


The Cards All Fall

by ChaoticReactions



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A Character Study disguised as shipping, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Kinda ish, M/M, Matchmaking, Maybe a bit more, Pack Dyanmics, Peter POV, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 51,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/ChaoticReactions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter needs his revenge.  But for that, he can't be under constant surveillance.   And so he comes up with a plan to distract Derek and Stiles with each other.  Things go as expected, and then they don't.</p><p>AKA That one where Peter makes everyone's lives a little better completely by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down With Love

The thing was, it had been easy.

Killing Laura was easy. Peter hadn’t even seen her face, really. The forest was dark and the battle was quick and then there was nothing but a corpse. Simple. But even if he had seen her or talked to her, Peter was fairly certain it still would have been a non-issue. After all, Laura had been the Alpha who ran, who took her little brother and left. Left _him_ , alive but suffering, to rot in that damned hospital. She’d fled to New York, and he’d been completely alone in that hell hole, left for as good as dead. So, killing Laura, needed Alpha powers or no, had been easy.

Killing Derek should have been easy. He had never been the best, never the strongest or the fastest or the smartest. With the strength of being a newly minted Alpha running through Peter, he should have died. Simple as that. Derek had been a non-entity to his plan. Just something he had to do. Go to the store, pick up milk, kill his nephew. Hell, Derek didn’t even look the same as he had back then. Once upon a time, before it all went wrong, he’d been a quiet kid, tagging after his older siblings and pretending he wasn’t. Maybe he wasn’t the most cheerful child, but he didn’t look like smiles were a foreign concept. This version of Derek was a brooding mass of misery, and often times Peter had trouble remembering that they - the younger and the older - were the same person.

But killing Derek hadn’t been simple or easy, in part from his own fault. The Alpha instincts were unexpectedly strong, and they had seemed to match his plans so well. Have a Pack. Get stronger. Kill the Argents. Easy peasy. But the Beta who was supposed to be his aide became one of his greatest hindrances, especially when factoring his allies. Maybe, in another world, Scott had joined him like he planned, brought the Stilinski boy’s brains with him, and they’d been triumphant.

Alas, Scott hadn’t, and things had become _hard_. To the point where he felt the need to make a back-up, and then was forced to use it.

But things were better now. _Peter_ was better now. Maybe he didn’t have Alpha powers anymore, but that served his purposes better, if he was honest. Angry, brute force had been the first solution he came up with, but he wasn’t really suited to that. Peter was sneakier. So now he was in a good position. He had a larger Pack than he’d had since the fire, a less extensive target list, and, Alpha Pack or no, he could take his _time_.

There was just one problem, really. Well, two, counting the Alpha Pack, but he wasn’t factoring them in at the moment. Whatever they got up to probably wouldn’t affect his plans overly much, so long as they didn’t change the current status quo. Fingers crossed. He’d deal with them later.

Peter’s problem was that this Pack was far from simple. Worse than that, they were _children_. And if he wanted to have the free range to destroy the remaining Argents in a way that couldn’t get back to him, he needed them happy and distracted and off his ass.

Which meant that he was going to have to play nice.

 _Ugh_.

***

There were three main people to look out for. His nephew, obviously, was top of that list. Derek trusted as well as he smiled these days, which was rarely and with little grace. He’d be keeping an eye on Peter, if only because he felt he should. And he would, with a dogged determination that would vex him to no end. But if Derek was given something more important to keep his eyes on, to focus all that lashing energy on instead of him, then he would be fine. That could be the Alpha Pack, but that might encourage reckless behavior that would be detrimental to Peter’s plans. So he needed something else, but there were a few options he had, due to Derek’s painfully obvious Martyr complex, and one that was better than the rest.

Right below him was Lydia. At the moment she wasn’t a direct threat, since her current strategy seemed to be avoiding Peter as much as possible, but that would only last for so long. The rest of their little group didn’t trust him because of his actions in the name of revenge before his death, but she didn’t because of the damaged he’d done to her for sheer self-preservation, which was much harder to shake. But this avoidance period while she adjusted and dealt was giving Peter a nice window to get around her, and hopefully he’d be able to neutralize anything she might try by the time she was ready.

Last on his list was Stiles Stilinski, who had gotten the position mostly because Peter couldn’t predict him. For all he knew, the kid wouldn’t give a shit about what he was up to and would go off and do whatever it is he did between being a pain in the ass and turning down the Bite. On the other, he could put that uncanny intelligence that made him remotely worthwhile to the worst possible use and chase him around in that mess of a Jeep. The best way to deal with him was the same way to work around Derek - to distract him with a shinier goal. Let him put that desire to be a hero to a target that wasn’t Peter.

Which meant he could kill two birds with one stone by turning Derek and Stiles toward each other. Peter could have them fight, which would be easy but could easily turn back on him and make him look like the bad guy, or he could simply push them together. Maybe the two of them weren’t pining for each other or whatever useless romance cliche seemed to dictate these things, but Peter had seen opposites attract before, and with the right push any couple could work for a couple of months. Longer when they didn’t think they had other options.

The rest of the Pack could potentially be a problem, but Peter didn’t think it was likely. They had either not been around during his death or were too wrapped up in other things to give him particular notice. Even Scott didn’t seem to be paying him too much attention, simply accepting that he’d found a way back and that he seemed to be willing to not go on a violent killing spree. He had been warned away from Melissa McCall though, which was disappointing. Not terribly so, because she wasn’t of use to him this time around, but she was a lovely woman and bowing out was a shame. It wouldn’t take much to keep their minds off of him, except when he offered himself to their notice, which suited him perfectly.

Peter had his obstacles, but he didn’t think any of them would take him long to overcome, once he figured out how.

That how was really the biggest problem.

***

Matchmaking, as it turned out, was a completely different kettle of fish to simply dating. Even more so when the two subjects showed no signs of being interested in bumping uglies now, outside of being two objectively attractive young men. Sure, Peter could over analyze every moment they'd ever been together until he had 'proof' they were secretly pinning their little hearts out, and he might end up doing so if he ever needed to call in backup from the rest of the Pack. But none of that changed the fact that Derek and Stiles didn't so much as trust one another, much less want to jump into a relationship.

Since Peter didn't have a lot of experience shoving people together until they wanted to stick their tongues in each others mouth, he needed to do some research. Therefore, it was time to break out the rom coms, which was sadly the best he had outside of the dubious advice of the internet. But for that, he needed somewhere to _watch_ the damn films. And, considering that they had a house _right there_ , it didn't seem like it should be difficult to get it back to livable levels.

It helped that Peter was really sick and tired of spending time in a building that should have been condemned years ago. He was all for remembering the tragedy their family had gone through and honoring their memory (through the systematic murder of those who were responsible), but this was just _sad_.

Now if only he could get the technical owner of the house to agree.

“No,” Derek barked, glaring when Peter suggested maybe making a few improvements, and he had to resist the urge to smack the stupid kid around until his sense was as developed as his muscles. His nephew picked the worst things to be a stubborn child over, honestly.

But Peter was a Beta, and more importantly he was keeping a low profile, so he ducked his head and just shrugged. “It's dangerous,” he reminded, cutting a glance over to where Stiles was perched awkwardly on a rock next to Scott and Isaac. The kid looked almost pathetically lost as the two werewolves bonded over the unintended positive side effects of being turned. It seemed like spending time with Isaac was the main reason Scott bothered to accept the invitation to train, since he was still swearing up and down that he wasn't part of Derek's Pack, no way no how. Peter was fairly certain the actually training part probably had something to do with it as well, since for all he'd improved since being turned, Scott had no polish or finish to his fighting.

Other than a few token protests about the time and having homework, Stiles had never seemed truly reluctant to come. Maybe he found it slightly boring and felt left out when his best friend latched on to some other kid, but he was quick to lend him mind or feet whenever anyone asked. Stiles needed to be needed. It was something Peter had seen before, and something he could easily use to his advantage. But right now, his status as the weak, slow-healing human was more useful, and Peter watched with smug glee as Derek's stubborn expression tightened. His nephew was shit at the actual logistics and decision-making that came with being an Alpha, but no one could say his heart wasn't in the right place. The Pack, to him, was about helping people be their best, and that included all the little humans.

For a second, Peter was reminded of the boy's mother, but shook off the feeling. She was dead, as was the rest of their family. That's what this was about.

Peter could have kept pressing, but instead he just let it go. Pushing too hard would just make Derek become defensive and that would slow everything down. And, sure enough, a couple days later supplies started to appear around the house, and Peter gave himself a few days to be smug about it.

Though, when the rest of the Pack showed up one weekend with their dirty craft clothes on, Peter put his foot down. It was probably better to live in the burned-out building than one built by a bunch of clueless teenagers, Stiles' internet plans aside. He was surprisingly backed up by Lydia, who was clearly massively irritated by her boyfriend dragging her up so early for such a stupid idea, and the next day an actual contractor came by to give an estimate.

Living in Derek's little abandoned subway car of misery for the two weeks it took for the majority of the construction work to finish was worse than the house, really, and Peter made several inquiries about how the hell a car had ended up here anyway, since little Beacon Hills sure as hell didn't have a subway. No one, not even Derek, had been able to give him an answer to that one, and he'd had to exile himself into the corner with the books on developing relationships he'd checked out from the local library until he was able to speak without wanting to scream.

The contractors did their jobs well, and soon the Hale house looked like an actual house again, instead of a lawsuit waiting to happen. As much wood from the original version as possible had been left, which amounted to maybe half of the basement level and some of the main stairway. And thanks to some of the documents on Peter's computer, as well as how well the building had stood up to fire and time, it looked nearly the same as it had before.

Which is why Peter spoke up again. In the same way that he wasn't going to live in a charred husk, he wasn't going to live in some creepy museum either. Peter had enough trouble sleeping at night without being haunted by what had been, he didn't need it when he woke up as well. It wasn't like they didn't have the money to do what they wanted anyway – between the life insurance for all the adults and the house insurance, plus the accumulated wealth of the family in the years prior, they were remarkably well off. More so then they should have been, actually – Peter had the bad feeling that his nephew had been living off of forest creatures rather than go to the supermarket, and for once he sincerely hoped he was wrong.

But it wasn't like he wanted to be the one to fill the place out. That was far too much work. And Peter certainly couldn't trust Derek's tastes, unless he wanted the place to be a creepy not-quite-right mirror or how it had been or, alternatively, all black and gray and possibly made of leather. So the obvious choice was to pass that tedious little job onto the rest of the Pack. He'd figured they'd like the chance to pick out the furniture they'd be dealing with whenever Derek dragged them over to train themselves.

What Peter hadn't accounted for was the enthusiasm with which the teenagers launched themselves at the task. Jackson and Lydia led the charge, since they apparently already knew which stores sold what kind of furniture from working on their rooms, and Erica was quick to throw in her own two cents. Between the three of them it started to get... extravagant, but Boyd was thankfully good at quelling the worst of it with a few words and a bland expression.

Whether or not they were actively helping, the kids all seemed to enjoy playing around with the task, and they left laughing and chatting amongst themselves, even among factions that tended not to speak much time to each other. After, Peter thought they seemed to have less arguments over stupid little things, and that was slightly baffling, but he wasn't about to fight it. Spats centered around teenage pride were annoying beyond belief, and anything that made them fade out was a relief.

The trend continued over the next week, since without furniture in the way, it was apparently the optimal time to paint. Much as he tried to, Peter wasn't able to bow out of helping them. The only positive was that neither was Derek, and the sight of the gruff 20-something with a frock on and a paintbrush in hand was a lovely source of amusement.

Because any given room was simply too small to fit all of them trying to paint, they ended up splitting into groups. Since he was watching, Peter noticed the way Stiles immediately glanced at Scott, eyes expectant, only to see his friend caught up in a whispered conversation with Isaac. His smile dropped and shoulders slumped, and Peter idly wondered where the young man who looked him in the eye and lied to a werewolf's face went on days like this. Then he made a mental note to encourage Isaac in his friendship with the other boy. The more isolated Stiles was now, when Peter wasn't up to as much as he'd like to be, the easier he'd be able to distract later when he needed it.

Scott and Isaac paired off, as did Erica and Boyd, and Jackson moved in with his teammates, apparently not intimidated by their growing friendship, unlike Stiles. Lydia joined the couple, probably to avoid having to be with Peter. Which left the Stilinski boy the odd man out, and he ended up with him and Derek, since the Alpha wasn’t going to let Peter go without supervision for a couple of hours. Really, it was his own fault that he was going to get manipulated into give Peter a little room to breathe.

At first that seemed wonderful, since it gave Peter a chance to watch their interactions in a more casual setting. Unfortunately, it wasn't. They weren’t really interacting, for one. Derek was watching him more than the human, and Stiles was trying to do his normal nervous babble, muttering as he dipped his roller brush in the pale green paint and started to spread it onto the wall. He continued his task until Derek reached the end of his limited patience and grabbed the back of the boy's hoodie, pushing him face first into the wet paint.

Peter winced and put aside his own roller to do damage control. He expected Stiles to freak out and be the right amount of terrified when an Alpha focused his temper on a fragile human. But that wasn’t what he got.

“What's your problem, Grumpy Bear?” Stiles voice wasn't happy, certainly, but it wasn't nearly as afraid as he should be. Instead, it was closer to simply irritated.

Rather than use his words like a big boy, Derek just scowled and held him in place, despite the way the kid tried to duck away. “Shut. Up.”

Stiles glared back, pushing up off the wall instead of going limp like anything with some sense. After a few minutes of spirited squirming, Derek’s arm muscles twitched like he wanted to send the kid sprawling to the floor. Instead he let go all at once, like it cost him something to back off. Popping away from the wall, Stiles brushed off his shirt with exaggerated care, smearing paint over his chest in the processes, and then wiped at his green coated cheek with an expression of disgust.

Again proving that he lacked anything even remotely related to a self preservation instinct, Stiles turned to meet Derek’s gaze and snorted. Standing like that, they were nearly eye to eye, and for a second Peter thought that the boy had gone up on his tiptoes. He wasn’t, however, and it was somehow startling to realize that Stiles was only an inch or so shorter than the Alpha. They had such different body types that it was easy to forget where they were similar. “If you two are going to brood in silence all day, then you shouldn’t be surprised when someone fills it up,” he snapped, spitting the words like he needed to get them out as quickly as possible.

Instead of smashing his face again, like he would have for any of his wolves, Derek just scowled and rolled his eyes, giving his version of a full hissy fit and went back to painting. Stiles stared after him for a second, poker face breaking apart into nervousness. So he had been afraid, but he’d managed to keep it from both werewolves in the room, which was a trick Peter would really love to pick up. Then again, it probably had something to do with the fact that the kid’s heart was like a rabbit’s on a good day. Whether that was from his issues or biological, Peter wasn’t sure, but it would do well to figure out how to get around anything but a blunt lie. Or, at least see if Scott could tell the difference from exposure.

Whether it was because his sense had finally bloomed in his brain or simply because he didn’t have as much to babble about, Stiles did at least quiet down a little. For a while, anyway. It was like he simply couldn’t be silent for long. Or, perhaps more accurately, he couldn’t stand _silence_ for long, and Peter mentally grinned at how much that would annoy Derek whenever they were alone. But, maybe not, since after a while the boy’s words quickly morphed into the equivalent of white noise, becoming part of the background and washing over Peter like the sounds of crashing waves.

Hands and ears pleasantly occupied, Peter let his mind go as he mused over the interaction he’d just watched. Maybe Derek and Stiels were simply incompatible. When he was normal, relatively sane (and, really, who was completely sane these days?), Peter liked to have a realistic idea of his own abilities, and he wasn’t sure he could make two people feel attracted enough to each other if they refused to so much as get along. And if neither of them - alright, he’d be honest here. If Derek couldn’t learn to back down and Stiles couldn’t learn to calm down, then it wasn’t going to happen with _anyone_ , much less each other. They were butting heads, and Peter really wished they’d just _get along_ for the sake of his plan.

But.

 _But_.

But Stiles stood up more the harder Derek shoved him. But Derek didn’t keep going like he would for anyone else. Unlike perhaps any other person the two of them interacted with, they were _equal_ in a way that just barely made sense. Which meant that Peter had a chance to make them work and make them really _absorbed_ in each other.

Now if only they liked each other enough to have a real conversation, other than in a crisis situation.

Well, Peter would take what he could get.

***

Finally, the house was as nice as it was going to get when at least partially occupied by a group of werewolves who seemed to take being wolves as an excuse to be slobs. Taking the initiative, Peter ordered not only a nice, large television (and shut down Derek’s protests that they ‘didn’t need it’ by replying that they didn’t need a fancy sports car. The way he flinched away meant that it had probably been Laura’s, but considering that he’d been the one to kill her Peter managed to live with the _crippling_ guilt) and what amounted to a starter pack of ‘classic’ movies from the past 8 or so years.

It helped, since at first Peter wasn’t sure if he should just sit down and have a Meg Ryan marathon. But quickly enough he decided that he didn’t particularly care about being seen as ‘fruity’ or whatever adjective a group of teenagers could come up with. He already came off that way regardless, what with the general comments on people’s fashion choices. In his defense, the amount of plaid some of them wore bordered on endemic.

But it wasn’t like Peter could get away from the seething mass of children that had somehow become his Pack, and so he resigned himself to being put upon and joined when he put the disc into the player. And, as predicted, he was soon surrounded by teenagers and one twenty-something, some more reluctantly than others. Before long the whole group was settled in the living room with a snacks they’d obtained from God knows where.

Since the living room furniture was made up of one decently sized couch and a loveseat, they were all smashed together, the concept of personal space a long forgotten memory, jostling and squirming as they decided who should sit where and who wanted to whisper with who and which groups were using the dark as an excuse to play footsie (hint: it was Boyd and Erica, who had no right to have quite so much PDA, except that Erica did her best to be in people’s face about everything and that they’d gone through two life-or-death situations in about 24 hours together, so okay, maybe they did just a little).

After the required manful whining about the movie choice and the kids figured out the right volume to whisper to each other, the entire experience wasn’t as excruciating as it could have been. Admittedly, Peter would have preferred being alone so that he could take notes to keep up with possible ideas and observations about how romance worked from the outside, but it wasn’t like the plots were anything particularly complex. Occasionally engaging on an emotional level, sure, but nowhere near intellectual. And so Peter found himself actually enjoying the experience. When Stiles declared at the end that this should be something that happened regularly, Peter didn’t object and let the kids start setting times. After all, it wasn’t his idea, so no way could anything think twice about his involvement. That might mean that he’d have to watch movies other than rom coms, but that was just a price Peter would have to pay. He’d live somehow, he was sure.

As they all shuffled out and prepared to go back to their own homes or upstairs or wherever the hell the kids went, Peter noted that Lydia continued to chat with her boyfriend instead of watch him warily, and didn’t even flinch when he walked behind her to grab a bowl that had been left on the couch (really, they just built this place, so could everyone please not ruin it immediately?). That was progress of a sort, since he didn’t particularly want her on his tail.

For a second, Peter debated pulling Lydia aside and talking to her, to assure her that no, he wasn’t going to do anything to her and that he’d meant it when he’d said that after he was back she wouldn’t have to deal with him. But that would be stupid, because a scared girl was an easily manipulated girl - that was why he’d terrified her in the first place, after all - and she could be useful later, if the opportunity arose. Plus, doing that would probably do nothing to soothe her nerves, and only make her think he was being suspicious.

Okay, maybe it was paranoid, but being paranoid had kept Peter under the radar for years before, and when he was on the saner side he liked that place, thanks very much.

Turning back to his work, he was a little surprised when another pair of hands started to help pick up stray kernels. At first, Stiles didn’t seem to see Peter’s odd glance. After a few seconds, he noticed the eyes on him and gave a slightly self conscious shrug. “I do this at home anyway. Habit.” Without any further explanations he returned to cleaning, like it was perfectly ordinary for a 16 year old to help clean anything he didn’t have to. Or, hell, someone Derek’s age, because his nephew kept any place he slept in about as neat as a real wolf’s den. Really, it was like living with animals.

Peter took a moment to mentally affirm his decision to set up the two. Not only was it strategically the best, but anyone that would help keep this place presentable was good in his book. “I appreciate it.” He answered slowly, and Stiles just shrugged again, but this time the corners of his mouth drew up. It was like the kid never got thanked, sheesh. “You know,” he drawled slowly, watching the back of Stiles’ head. “I’ve noticed you never come around when Scott isn’t here.”

Shooting him an odd look, Stiles brushed off his hands above the bowl. “Well, yeah, I’m kind of Scott’s plus one. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“Because you wouldn’t want to come or because you don’t think you’d be welcome?” Peter responded, and the way the boy’s shoulders hunched up was all the answer he needed. “That doesn’t have to be the case.”

Eyes going narrow, Stiles gave in an assessing look. “Is this you trying to get me Bit again?”

Peter couldn’t deny that wasn’t on his mind. After all, it was create a bond between the two without him having to work on it, and it would require that Stiles stay in the house for a day or so while he recovered. “That depends. Do you want it to be?” When the boy’s eyes narrowed even further, going dark with suspicion, he raised his hands. “Alright, alright, then no, that’s not it.” Dropping his hands, he gave Stiles as friendly a smile as he could. The suspicious look didn’t lesson, which was making it difficult not to tense up. “You don’t have to be a wolf to be part of the Pack, you know.” Without his permission, his voice dropped into something softer as he remembered the rest of the family. Other than a couple of passing mentions, Peter hadn’t talked talked about any of them at all, even to Derek. Scratch that, especially to Derek. It was a bit of a surprise to hear his tone drop like that, but it did seem to relax Stiles a little, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Still searching his face, Stiles blinked at him, and once again Peter could see the boy who had snatched his wrist away at the last second in that parking lot, and he wondered how and why he kept that part of himself buried. “Why did you come back?”

That wasn’t a non-sequitur, no sir. He was the first person to really ask that, actually, and Peter wondered if that said more about Stiles or everyone else. Maybe both.

Because he couldn’t just reply ‘revenge’, Peter shrugged. “Why does anyone do anything? Because I wanted to survive. Because I want to live. Do I really need some complicated reason?”

For a second the kid stared at him, then Stiles nodded, breaking eye contact as he grabbed the bowl. “Guess not,” he replied, and he was back to the awkward teenager thing. “Scott’s probably wondering where I am. I’m his ride.” With that he shoved the popcorn bowl into Peter’s hands and took off, hands in his pockets and head bowed in apparent thought.

Watching him go, Peter wondered if that conversation proved Stiles to be a greater or smaller risk. By the time he’d finished washing the bowls, he still couldn’t figure it out, and so he decided to wait and see.

***

Maybe it was his own innate fondness for this particular strategy, or maybe it was all the the rom coms and cheesy 80s teen movies, but the first step seemed obvious. And that was why the second time Stiles came sans Scott (the first time had been hovering slightly awkwardly along the side of the house, being ignored by a texting Lydia and looking like he was trying to become a particularly misshapen tree), Peter was on him at once, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around. “Nope, wrong way, back outside.”

Rather than going along with him, Stiles’ eyes shuddered and he dug in his heels, eyes going dark with something like hurt. “I thought you said it was okay for me to come?” His voice was that light, casual tone that meant the second Peter loosened his grip the kid would go barreling into the house just to be contradictory, so he held on tighter instead.

“Of course it is, don’t be stupid. I said it was fine, didn’t I? This has nothing to do with that. Now turn around already.” Without waiting for the kid to agree, Peter simply flipped him around and marched him out, overpowering him without significant effort.

Stiles struggled for a moment, but it was more on principle than anything, and he blinked as they approached Derek’s car (because like hell was Peter riding in Stiles’ awful excuse for a vehicle if he didn’t absolutely need to). “Alright, I’ll bite. What the hell is going on and where are we going?”

Snorting, Peter tugged on the hideous plaid shirt Stiles was wearing over a ratty, faded t-shirt. He might have been indisposed over the past several years, but fashion only changed so much, and there was no way anyone found that look attractive. Ever. “This. Getting rid of this is what’s going on. I refuse to be seen with you while you persist in wearing this trash.”

The kid tensed, but it was too late because Peter was already pushing him into the passenger’s seat. “But I like my clothes!” He yelped, as Peter slammed the door closed on his face. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at Stiles, he was openly pouting at him, and Peter had to resist the urge to pinch his cheeks, or at least smack him upside the head. “With what money?” He demanded, shoulders set like Peter was going to make him pay. And if he thought he could get away with it, he certainly would have, but not only did Stiles probably not have that kind of money on him, but it would make this process all the slower.

“Mine. So shut up and stop complaining. I’m doing you a favor.” Stiles looked like he very much disagreed, but Peter put on the sunglasses perched on the dash and stared at him over the top of them, so he turned to pout at the window instead. “No, really, I am. Do you even own a mirror? Or have you ever heard of color theory? I can’t take it anymore, and you have a free day, so I’m helping you. You’ll never get anyone to look at you twice like that.”

Stiles’ shoulders didn’t relax, but Peter could see his expression go a little vulnerable in the reflection off the window. For a second the boy fidgeted, because if he stayed still for longer than five minutes the moon would fall from the sky, before he shrugged. “It probably won’t do any good. She hasn’t cared before.”

Oh,shit. Yes, this was exactly what he wanted to deal with. Making sure to keep his face at least mostly approachable, Peter tilted his head as he pulled off the dirt road that lead to the Hale house and onto the main road. “I assume you mean Lydia. In which case, you’re right, it won’t do any good.” Stiles gave a start, like he’d expected Peter to reassure him that no, he still had a chance and soon she’d wake up and see what a great guy he was. Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to fly. “Look, Lydia’s a smart girl. Very smart. She knows you’re there, and she knows that you like her.” It took all of his self-control not to turn that into mocking, and Peter thought he deserved a reward, honestly. “If she hasn’t gone for it by now, she isn’t going to.”

Frowning deeply, Stiles whirled around to face him. “But Jackson’s been such a douchebag to her! He doesn’t des-”

Rolling his eyes, Peter snorted to interrupt him. “Deserve her? What, and you do?” Stiles shrank back, from either the tone or putting it so bluntly, but his jaw was set stubbornly. “Oh, please. It’s not about deserving, because she’s not a damn trophy. It’s about who she chooses, and she didn’t choose you.” When he glanced back at Stiles, the kid had gone back to stubbornly staring out the window. “And you’ve got a brain. You know that. So I don’t know why you persist with this idiocy.”

Stiles just shrugged one shoulder, and so Peter sighed and let him. It was better to let him work through this shit on his own, because if Peter persisted than he’d just dig in his heels, just like at the house. But left to his own devices, he might finally give up on his crush nonsense, which was crucial to his plans. If not, well, there were other ways. He and Derek really were a matched pair, ugh.

The rest of the ride went in silence that wasn’t quite sullen, and Peter took it as not as bad as it could be. Once they reached the mall, he hustled the boy out, yanking him up by the hideous plaid shirt and closing the door firmly behind them. Stiles glanced back, eyes wide like he wanted the car to scoop him back up and save him, but he eventually did start walking. Leading them both to the nearest clothing store that sold something decent, he marched Stiles into the men’s section and started to push through the racks. “It’s a pity that you can’t pull off the button down look all the time. You looked fetching in it.”

“I don’t know you.” Stiles responded casually, staring off into space. “I’m not here right now.”

Shoving a pair of shirts that should at least be the right size into his arms, Peter tilted his head and then took one back. The other one was a better color with his hair. Putting the first one away, he let the corner of his lips pull up. “After all, why do you think I was willing to give you the Bite?”

Behind him, Peter heard the sound of uncomfortable shifting. To be honest, that was probably stupid. Bringing up the night he made Lydia into his back-up wasn’t wise by any stretch. But damn if the kid wasn’t fun to mess with. “I can’t hear you. I’m too busy being anywhere else. Like running suicides at practice. That sounds fun, comparatively.”

“I hope you didn’t think it was for any other reason. The decision was made solely on your ability to look decent in formal wear.” Peter continued, ignoring Stiles’ increasingly higher pitched grumbling as he nabbed a few more items. “Quit that, no one likes a mumbler.” Oh, those jeans would make his ass look worthwhile. Excellent. Grabbing one in a pale grey and another in dark blue, he shoved both into Stiles’ arms with the rest of the increasing load of shirts.

Stiles made a noise like he was actually insulted by that, and Peter really did pat him on the head that time, if only because the glare he got was hilarious. “You’re a figment of my overactive imagination in Chemistry class. Nothing else could be so annoying.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter just snorted. “I think that’s enough to start with.” A jacket caught his eye, though, and really, he should give up his fashion license for even considering it, especially after what he’d told Allison, but... Snagging the coat, he folded it on top of the rest of the pile. “That one first. With the turtleneck and the black jeans. Hop to.” Stiles stared at him, expression mullish, so Peter flashed him a smirk and slapped him on the ass, just to hear him squeal. “You heard me. Get going! I want to see the difference my work makes.”

Pouting again, Stiles huffed and turned around, stepping quickly to avoid any other blows to his ass. “Is being creepy a family trait?” He threw over his shoulder, clearly without thought, and Peter bit down on his tongue rather than respond poorly. The impulse faded faster than he’d thought it would, though, and he just chuckled at Stiles’ retreating back.

Peter settled himself in one of the chairs in front of the dressing rooms and waited for Stiles to come out. After a few seconds and the distinctive cursing of someone not used to getting on clothes that actually fit them snuggly, Stiles stumbled out, tugging self consciously at his shirt, which only just barely met the jeans. Perfect size, then. By which he meant a size too small, but the boy didn’t have to know that. Plus, it showed that he did in fact have nicely muscled shoulders after all that running around and lacrosse practice, which was nice. The turtleneck itself had a good amount of neck - perhaps a little more than he’d thought, but it still worked - and the pale grey didn’t detract from him, but it didn’t draw too much attention either. The black jeans were a nice contrast and were the kind of skinny that had become popular since he was last casually out and about, and did indeed show off the ass that was normally hidden by oversized plaid. Over them was a sleek, urban-style red jacket, with plenty of zippers and pockets for him to store little notes and vials and whatever the hell else he might need in, and came completely with a hood that wasn’t atrociously large.

Peter probably should have felt worse about the whole Little Red Riding Hood thing, but it really wasn’t in him. Plus, it was bold and unsubtle, which was necessary for Derek.

“I look ridiculous,” Stiles mumbled, still tugging futilely at the hem of the turtleneck.

Arching a brow, Peter smirked. “Well, there’s nothing the clothes can do about that.” Stiles show him a dark glare, and he just shrugged. “But it’s an improvement. Significantly. You look like you know what you’re doing now. Or, more accurately, you know someone who knows what they’re doing. Now spin.” For a second Stiles just stared, before he sighed and obliged. “Very good. We’ll get all of it.”

Once his spin was completely, Stiles frowned at him, expression almost deadpan. “Oh, okay, makes sense that I don’t get an opinion on my own clothes. That’s cool.”

Smirking back, Peter pushed him back in. “Good for you, you’re finally catching on. Try the polo next.”

Stiles sighed and obliged, probably because fighting only delayed the inevitable. He really did learn fast.

But when Peter tried to follow him inside to point out exactly which shirt he’d meant and pick out pants, the changing room door slammed in his face, and only werewolf reflexes kept him from having his nose smashed in.

Peter knew that he was being put up with - that he wasn’t trusted for a variety of reasons, and was only not an Omega for the sake of his knowledge and experience and that only he knows the password to his laptop. And he doesn’t care, normally. So long as he gets to stick around, why should he give a shit?

But once in awhile it really slaped him in the face, like when members of the Pack hurry to put space between them, or when his nephew watched him like he can’t be trusted not to slice anyone’s throat open. And, yeah, it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable feeling in the world when his only remaining family looked at him that way.

Then Peter remembered that he was one of the reasons why they’re the only family they have left, and that made it hurt somewhere a little deeper, but it was easier to ignore that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to state for the record that I have nothing against plaid. I like plaid.


	2. Life Or Something Like It

Maybe Karma was real. Peter didn’t exactly buy it, but he wasn’t ruling it out, either - after all, even the most ridiculous of myths and rumors (Christian name, anyone?) tended to have a grain of truth. If it was, some things would certainly make a whole hell of a lot more sense. He was _technically_ a mass-murderer. Not a serial killer, though. He’d been called that ‘jokingly’ a couple of times now, and it irritated him to no end. Serial killers did it for the ritual and power. Peter had done it for pure revenge. Not to mention they’d _deserved_ it, so there. 

Either way, he and Stiles got back to a tense house, with surprisingly enough, Scott at the center of it, arms crossed and back hunched as he sat in the middle of the couch. Derek was pacing in front of him, while everyone else watched his movements. Stiles surged away from Peter, stopping his babbled, half-hearted complaints about the new clothes to sit next to his best friend, turning instantly into some kind of hovering hen. The Beta leaned into the touch without really looking like he realized what he was doing, and turned his glance onto his friend.

“C’mon, what’s up?” Stiles asked, knocking their shoulders together gently. 

Lips pressing together, Scott tensed up worse than before. “They were at my _house_.”

For a second Stiles just stared at him, and then made a rolling motion with his hand. “Um, who? Context would be nice.”

Scott whirled to look at him better. “The new Pack! The Alphas. They were waiting for me _at my house_.”

Rubbing at his shoulder, Stiles jerked him around a little, obviously looking for injuries. Scott put up with it for a minute before shaking him off with a peevish huff. “Okay? What did they want, then?”

Instead of Scott, Derek answered, not pausing his pacing. “They want him to kill me.”

Stiles nodded in understanding, and Peter crossed his arms. So they wanted Scott to be Alpha? Or to just try, at least. “Why?” He asked, and all the eyes in the room suddenly snapped from Scott to him. Stiles arched a brow at him in an incredulous way, and Peter rolled his eyes. “I mean why _Scott_.”

If possible, the kid looked even more uncomfortable. “They knew,” he muttered, grabbing at the couch cushions in a way that made Peter hope he wasn’t ripping them badly enough that they’d need to be replaced. “About Gerard and the past few months and _everything_. So I guess they thought I’d be the one to try it.” Eyes going dark, Scott scowled. “They threatened my mom, too. Said that me being Alpha would ‘keep her safe’.”

Poor Melissa. A woman that lovely should really be treated better.

From where she was cuddled up on the loveseat with Jackson, Lydia frowned, eyes narrowed. “How did they know that?”

Silence fell as they considered that. Not many people outside of this room knew what had gone down in any sort of detail. Something dropped in Peter’s stomach, and he clenched his fists to help vent the frustrations. The Alpha Pack threatening and fighting them was fine, since it would be something that would bring them together, but this was bad. If the implications of that were true...

Boyd glanced at Derek, and then the rest of them. “That vet. What’s his name. What does he know?”

Before Peter could object - he’d seen for himself exactly how loyal Deaton was - Scott and, oddly enough, Isaac shook their heads. “He’s good.” Isaac asserted, frowning at Boyd and looking almost hurt by the accusation, and the other boy shrugged back, not pressing his question any harder.

Desperately, Peter started to run through anyone who knew about them. The Argents were possible, but he didn’t think they’d associate with an Alpha Pack for long without trying to kill them. Melissa wouldn’t, since it was putting her son and herself at risk, and the humans’ parents didn’t know anything and would have the same issues even if they did. Deaton was out. “What about the other one. The psychologist.”

The tension in the room relaxed a little, and Scott looked thoughtful. “She did translate the bestiary for us,” he offered, sounding almost like he was arguing for the sake of arguing. And no wonder. When the other option was a traitor among them, any other answer sounded great.

“Yeah, badly,” Jackson responded, glancing at Lydia for confirmation. 

The redhead nodded, eyes narrowed. “She translated some of it correctly, but the important words were not only just wrong, but sent you all on a wild goose chase.”

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip as he nodded. “And she should have known, right? She’s was with Deaton before, and he knows because of whatever it was with him and Gerard.” Pausing, he glanced between his friend and the Alpha. “No one’s seen either of them since that night, too. So it’s possible she did something to him and then joined up with them.”

Giving a little jerk that served as an agreeing nod, Derek’s eyes snapped to Scott with the creepy intensity he got when he was thinking hard. “Did it seem like they only wanted you to try?”

Flailing a little, Scott shrugged. “How am I supposed to know that? I guess it was pretty standard creepy threatening stuff. I certainly heard enough of it from Gerard to remember the gist.” Rubbing the back of his neck with thankfully human nails, he sighed. “It’s not like I came here for protection or to warn you or whatever. I’m just really sick and tired of people threatening my mom.”

“Can’t you just agree?” Erica asked, and all the eyes snapped to her. “Not like that. I mean with like with the psycho grandpa.” Her expression and tone were strong, almost flippant, but Peter could see the way she gripped at Boyd’s hand. “Make them think you’re all for it and stall or find out who’s behind them or whatever you can do.”

Several people looked thoughtful at that, but Stiles shook his head. “No way. If they know as much as Scott thinks they do, then they probably know how he faked out Gerard. He can’t do it. And everyone else is obviously part of Derek’s Pack.” Erica frowned at her idea being shot down, but she just sighed in mild irritation and pouted.

Peter was tempted to point out that there was one other person that wasn’t clearly Pack, and that was Stiles himself. Sure, he wasn’t a wolf, but even him turning on them would make everyone jumpy around each other, which Peter suspected was the Alpha Pack’s plan. Make them suspicious of one another until they were easy to take down one at a time. Which was the exact _opposite_ of what Peter needed, damn them all to hell.

But Stiles had that familiar look again, jaw set and eyes bright and intelligence, and Peter kept his mouth shut. If they really did have a traitor in the mix, there was no reason to air out a half decent plan. That was assuming the kid _wasn’t_ one, obviously, but Peter doubted that. If nothing else, Stiles Stilinski was irritatingly stubborn and loyal. Then again, he had nearly bailed in the fight with Gerard, but could they blame the fragile human for staying away?

This was going in circles. Peter would assume he wasn’t a traitor for now, and prepare just in case he was. That was really the only way to deal with these situations.

Slowly, awkwardly, the group broke up. Isaac, Boyd and Erica all slipped upstairs in a mass, and Peter found himself actually hoping the traitor wasn’t one of them, because the other two would be inconsolable. Not because he actually gave a damn about their _feelings_ , but because that was the sort of drama that didn’t do anyone any good, least of all him. Jackson glanced up after them, like he wouldn’t mind joining in the inevitable puppy pile, but Lydia dragged him off instead, and he went willingly.

“Need me to drive you home?” Stiles asked Scott, patting his shoulder again.

Shaking his head, the Beta huffed. “Nah, I took mom’s car. I should get it back before too long or she’ll flip.” After a second, he glanced down and then back up, one brow raised. “Nice coat.”

Stiles flushed, ducking his head a little. “Shut up,” he responded, and Scott snickered in the slightly teasing way Peter had only heard between family members. He worked hard on pushing that thought away as Scott stood up and made his way out, glancing behind like he didn’t like Stiles staying behind.

Once he had control over himself, Peter looked up to see Derek eyeing the jacket as well, face blank, and he nearly held his breath. Noticing his gaze, Stiles wrapped his arms around his chest like a girl protecting her breasts from someone’s eyes. “Peter made me,” he accused, all but pointing back at him. 

Derek didn’t follow the gaze, instead staring at Stiles in a way that had nothing to do with the jacket. “You could do it. Trick them.” His voice was authoritative, leaving little room for any argument, but Peter could see the tense way he held himself. The Alpha didn’t like this plan. Not only that, but he was waiting to be shot down.

Arms dropping, Stiles nodded, which didn’t help how tense Derek was at all. “Yeah, I could.” His tone was almost soft, but he met the Alpha’s gaze head on. It wasn’t a question or an offer. It was reassurance.

Giving a jerk of his head, Derek snorted. It came off a little disbelieving, though Peter didn’t think he meant it that way, and Stiles went automatically tense and defensive. “They can tell when you lie,” he pointed out, voice rough and just a tiny bit too fast.

“Only when he tells a total lie,” Peter responded, and Derek glared like he wasn’t supposed to mention that. “Half truths can be either explained or go unnoticed.” He paused, then tilted his head. “Not that it especially matters. The real traitors will figure it out soon enough.”

Stiles jerked around to look at him, and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s true. Shit.” He scrubbed his fingers through his buzz cut and rested his chin on his palm. “Lydia would if she thought it would benefit her. Or Jackson.” It was still bitter, but maybe less so, if Peter was being optimistic. Usually he wasn’t, but this time he could let himself believe. “Jackson might do the same, but the Pack is something he needs. If he’s recognized that, which I’m not convinced is the case, he won’t. Scott is too idealistic - he has good guys and bad guys, and the Alpha Pack are bad, easy as that. I’m not really sure about the other three, but...” His eyes met Peter’s, gaze deadly serious. “You would, if it helped you. And you would have figured it out.”

Giving a tight smile back, Peter nodded. “No sense denying it. But I get more out of this Pack than I do theirs.” Stiles nodded like he expected that, and Derek stared at him like he wasn’t sure how to take his words. But it was better than disbelief, so Peter would take it. “Isaac wouldn’t. He’d decided he much prefers helping things than hurting them. I think Erica and Boyd would, if it gave them something they wanted.” 

Eyes dark, Derek nodded. “They tried before. And they did meet the Alpha Pack before anyone else.” The two had come limping back, frightened and bleeding the day after the Alphas had marked the house. Both had insisted the Pack had toyed with them and then let them go to show what they were capable of. Now, Peter suspected that they’d been given a talk not unlike Scott. 

Great, just great.

“So should I bother to try or not?” Stiles finally asked, scrubbing his face. “If nothing else, they might let something slip while they’re humoring me. Or they might not try at all and this conversation has been useless, which is, you know, fantastic.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “No.” The human frowned at him, and Derek frowned right back. “It’s a stupid risk, so don’t bother. If they try with you, you say whatever you need to to get them to leave and then call me.” When Stiles opened his mouth - probably to argue about some aspect or another - the Alpha took a threatening step forward and flashed red eyes at him. “I said no. You’ll just get hurt for nothing.”

For a second, Stiles looked almost flattered, before his expression turned back to mullish. Slowly, Peter realized that Stiles _wanted_ to do this. His Hero Complex was showing again. Which meant it was time to give him a better solution. Working through everything he’d been told about the past several weeks, he moved to lean against the back of the couch. “There’s something better for you to do.” Stiles’ head whipped around so fast Peter was afraid he’d hurt himself, and Peter arched a brow at him. “If Deaton’s gone, there’s no sense letting all the supplies and information he has go to waste. Get Scott to break you into the office and see if you can find anything.” Mind still working, he fought of a smirk at the kid’s wide-eyed staring. “Get whatever’s on his computer. As much as you can. We’ll compare it to what’s on my laptop. Bring it here. Any wolf can break into your house, and without the proper nose for the job you can’t tell. It’s safer.”

Plus, it would require Stiles spend even more time here, which would hopefully give Peter more time to further his schemes. He loved it when a plan came together.

Stiles nodded, eyes alight at the promise of not only being necessary, but getting to do the research. And that wasn’t even counting all the goodies that might be there, which was another reason they would need him - it wasn’t like the wolves could handle wolfsbane or mountain ash easily. 

Pulling out his cell, he shoved it in Derek’s hands to program his number into, and then left with a mumbled good-bye, already calling Scott. As he went, Peter tilted his head and watched the jeans and shorter shirt work wonders on Stiles’ ass. He’d done good, insisting that the kid wear them out of the store. Turning his gaze, he saw Derek watching him go as well. It was probably out of worry or curiosity, but he was still looking. “I did good with the outfit, right?” 

Derek jumped, and Peter let himself at least imagine that it had been slightly guilty. “That’s where you were, then?” The Alpha’s tone implied that he was not at all happy that Peter had run off his leash, and bringing Stiles probably didn’t help. Well too bad. Beta or no, Peter still had his free will. Well, unless Derek actually _made_ him do something, but his nephew actively refused to do it. His loss, Peter’s gain, so fine with him. “His old clothes were fine.” Derek replied sharply, like he wasn’t sure why Peter was commenting.

“But these are better.” He replied, only slightly smug, and Derek just shrugged. But he’d been looking, so there. Ha.

Now if only those stupid Alphas weren’t such a pain in his ass, Peter might actually have a good thing going.

***

A couple of days later, Stiles stumbled into the house, carrying a couple of bags fill to bursting. They bulged in odd places, and Peter caught a whiff of something that smelled equal parts burnt and acrid. Mountain ash. Eugh. The kid made his way into the kitchen and started to set down the bags on the table they _ate_ off of, until Derek glared at him from the doorway. Shooting him a sheepish grin, Stiles piled them against the wall instead, nice and out of the way. 

Following after with considerably more ease, despite the fact that he was carrying a heavy computer and it’s monitor, Scott trailed in after, and his load did go onto the table. As the Beta set the hardware down, Peter eyed the computer, and then Stiles, who was struggling to undo the knot keeping his bag closed. “You do know that you can get the files without taking the whole computer, right?”

Biting down on the string with his front teeth, Stiles sent him a bland look and tugged once, loosening it enough to open. “No, I had no clue. I thought the files were _inside the computer_.” Judging by his tone, he was referencing something, but it went over Peter’s head. On the other hand, Scott snickered, and the two of them shared a quick high five. “I didn’t have enough jump drives to get all the information, and I wasn’t about the shell out for a portable hard drive when we were taking things anyway. Besides, I made Scott useful.”

Scowling playfully at his friend, Scott snagged one of the napkins from the holder and balled it up, lobbing it at Stiles’ head. It bounced off of his forehead, and Stiles pouted and rubbed it, as if it had so much as left a mark. “Next time you can get in without a key.”

“Sure,” Stiles replied easily. “I’ll look up how to pick the lock. It’ll be awesome. Like a ninja.” He flailed his arms in what Peter supposed was the approximation of karate chops, and nearly fell over the bags. “But, anyway, we weren’t sure how much of this stuff is actually useful, and how much was just vet stuff, so we kinda brought the lot.” He shook the bag, which jangled as glass shifted against glass.

Derek’s brows rose, and he turned his bland gaze to Scott. “You’ve worked there for months. Shouldn’t you know?”

Shrugging slightly defensively, Scott tapped his fingers against the top of the monitor. “I just helped out. Mostly it was letting the animals out and helping keep them calm. And then making things a little easier on them.” He gestured at them with the other hand before letting it drop. “It’s not like I have a degree in animal medicine or something. There was a bunch of stuff I wasn’t supposed to touch. ‘Course, looking back it could’ve just been magic stuff, but still.”

Playing with a jar of what was clearly finely grained wolfsbane, even if he wasn’t aware of it, Stiles glanced at the Alpha. Peter took a second to be grateful Deaton kept everything sealed. In all likelihood, it was to keep the plant products from rotting too quickly, but it had the added benefit of making them bearable to be around. “Whatever’s in here, the computer should be able to tell us. Or your guys’ records.” This time he glanced at Peter, eyes bright and excited. Clearly, the boy remembered being promised to see his laptop.

“Probably not ours.” Peter replied easily, stalling just a little. Even if he didn’t give Stiles the password to his laptop, he still didn’t like anyone going through it. Every time someone but him got the information from it, it became slightly less valuable. The technology wasn’t his main protection, but it was certainly a useful one, and he disliked weakening it. “It tends more toward creatures and their tendencies. Nothing about Alpha packs either, I’m afraid.” If anything, his records implied that such a thing was highly unlikely, which would make them even less useful to the Pack.

For a second, Stiles just kept staring, like he was _daring_ Peter to keep him from his promised information. Just what was with this kid, anyway? Jeez. Finally Stiles turned away and hooked up the computer to the socket and monitor, turning it on and letting it load. Scott logged into the account, and Stiles pulled over a chair and settled down in it, cracking his knuckles.

The Hale house still didn’t have internet (Peter was working on it, although he really had bigger fish to fry), but that apparently wasn’t necessary, since Stiles was just working with the records on the computer. At first, pictures of various dogs and cats and whatnot came up, along with the owner information, but he moved past that quickly and into what looked like a list of supplies around the office. Stiles copied that into a word document and pulled open the bag, pulling out the first and checking through the list.

Well, this was going to take a while.

It only took a few seconds for Scott to start shifting, obviously bored. His job was done, after all. And Peter had to admit that watching Stiles meticulously sort out what was actual medical equipment and what wasn’t didn’t rank high on his list of entertainments. The movies always made this part look much more exciting. “I’m going to head upstairs.” He announced, and then glanced at Derek in an instinctive search for permission. It might have been because it was Derek’s Pack upstairs, but Peter thought that maybe Scott wasn’t as opposed to being part of them as he claimed. Which was great for his nephew, and made Peter that much stronger. 

Once Derek nodded - more a jerk of the head, really - Scott made his escape, thumping up the stairs like he didn’t have werewolf agility. After a few more seconds of watching, Peter slipped out as well. Instead of leaving completely, however, he left the door open behind him and settled into the couch with a book, where he could watch them.

There was a real difference to how Derek and Stiles interacted when there was a crisis between them. Maybe they let down whatever guards they had up in the face of peril or whatever the hell else cliched sentiment could apply here, but either way the effect was the same. Stiles still talked a mile a minute, but it was focused toward something necessary - something Derek cared to hear about. And his nephew wasn’t working to be Mr. Tough and Intimidating Alpha, which meant he was only about half as unbearable.

They worked well together as well. Where Stiles was intuitive and good at figuring out where to go, Derek was adept at picking his way through bullshit. By now, the Alpha had moved to stand over Stiles’ shoulder (all the better to look at your computer screen with, my dear), as they murmured together in voices so low Peter had trouble picking out individual words. But even after all their more... physical confrontations, Stiles didn’t seem afraid of Derek’s strength, which in turn calmed him.

Not to mention that Peter was pretty sure he caught his nephew sneaking looks down at Stiles’ neck and shoulders, which today’s turtleneck very kindly highlighted. He’d done good. Very good. Maybe he was still a spazz of a teenager, but at least now he was stylish about it.

“So, I think we can assume this one could be useful to us.” Stiles murmured, swirling the little jar of mountain ash. Peter had to hand it to Deaton - at least he had good supplies. The mountain ash was finely ground and smelled fresh, even inside the glass bottle.

Snorting, Derek took it from him, his fingers resting over Stiles’ from the motion. The boy didn’t seem to notice, but Peter thought he might have shifted just a little. “Oh, really? You’re sure you don’t wanna research this too?”

Stiles send him a bland look back. “Hey, just because I didn’t want to take you at your word doesn’t mean you can be all snippy at me.”

“You _should_ take me at my word,” Derek insisted, voice not so much demanding the respect as almost teasing. “I know better than you. Alpha, remember?”

Sputtering out a laugh, Stiles grabbed the next jar. “Yeah, because you always have your shit together. Don’t play that game with me, Sourwolf. I know better.”

Even if he could only see his back, Peter just _knew_ Derek was doing that sardonic brow thing he did when he was amused. “Do you?”

Without turning around, Stiles reached up and patted Derek on the cheek. He snatched his hand back quickly, but Peter was a little impressed the kid was putting his fingers so close to the his nephew’s mouth, considering that he’d seen the fangs he could produce. “‘Course I do. Crunchy, leathery grump shell with marshmallow filling. You secretly just want to play fetch and have your ears scratched.”

For a second there was just silence, and Peter tensed up as Stiles went still in trepidation. Then, Derek started to laugh. Well, okay, it was more of a chuckle, but Derek had never been a belly laugh kind of kid. He’d always giggled and ducked his head, until the sound had deepened out into what it was now. Something in Peter’s stomach twisted hard, and he felt suddenly ill. “Dog jokes, wow. Never heard any of those before.”

Shrugging lightly, like he didn’t understand how _strange_ it was to hear his nephew laugh, Stiles just flapped a hand at him. “Yeah, but mine are extra clever. Plus, they’re funny ‘cause they’re true. Now would you bring me the next bottle already?” He snapped at the bottle of wolfsbane, and Derek rumbled back a negative, either because he didn’t want to touch it or because he was enjoying being contrary.

Rather than wait around for the resulting snarking, Peter dragged himself off the couch and out of the house, closing it silently behind him. Once outside, he took deep breaths to calm his stomach, staring out at the mass of greenery circling the building. His chest _hurt_ , like it was breaking open, and Peter gave thought to going up stairs and grabbing pain killers.

But now he couldn’t stop thinking about Derek as a child, which led to Laura, who had doted on him as much as she’d teased, and their mother, who was always trying to keep everyone happy, and their father who was so laid back and quick with a joke, and...

Okay, no. No. Peter wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t some sentimental sap who was going to fall into despair and cry instead of _doing_ something. Making himself straighten up, he clenched his hands into fists and stared up at the sky. Peter made himself remember the smoke and the fire and how much it had hurt. Then he thought about the people who had been responsible, and his stomach burned in a way that was completely opposite the heartache. The ones who had been directly responsible were dead, yes, mostly at his own hand, but Peter didn’t trust any of them. The whole family was just _bad news_ , and not only were they a threat to him, but they were a mockery. Those two lived while his family was dead. It wasn’t okay. It could never _be_ okay, until Peter evened the score.

He stood there, staring up at the sky, for a long time.

***

By the time Peter made his way back inside, there was a nice neat stack of medical supplies on one side of the table, and the other bags of various supernatural substances were once away neatly put away in the corner. The rest of the Pack - minus Jackson and Lydia, who were off being relatively normal teenagers, Peter supposed - were now gathered in the kitchen. Scott frowned down at the leftover medical supplies, and then up at Stiles, who was now searching through the computer’s C: drive, apparently under the belief that Deaton had been dumb enough to save any files as ‘supernatural’ or ‘werewolf’. “So when are we taking the rest of this stuff back?”

Brow furrowing, Stiles blinked up at him. “Uh, we’re not?”

Scott’s expression went distinctly puppy-dog-ish, even as he drew his shoulders up, and Peter wondered if that was some sort of odd side-effect to his Bite, or if he’d just managed to chomp down on a kid who was already some sort of freaky half-canine creature. “I get taking the Mountain Ash or whatever, but that doesn’t mean we should steal the rest of his things too. It’s not right.”

Lips twisting, Stiles shrugged. “For all we know the guy is dead, dude. It was risky enough breaking in once. With our luck someone will end up calling my dad.”

Head shaking, Scott crossed his arms. “Not when I have a key. And he’s smart. He could totally be alive, and then he’ll be mad when he gets back.” His words were just a little hollow, and he darted his eyes over to Isaac, who was listening to the conversation with big, sad eyes. What did he care, anyway? He’d only met the vet once. His expression did clear up a little when he caught Scott’s slightly worried gaze, and he gave a small, pleased smile back.

Expression going dark and cloudy, Stiles checked the searches quickly (which all came up empty, obviously) and then turned off the monitor with a jab or his thumb. “Yeah, because one human vet has such a good chance against a Pack of Alphas.” He snorted, the sound unusually harsh coming from him, and Scott’s eyes went a little wide, startled by the tone. “Besides, taking in the unlikely possibility that he’s survived somehow, I’m pretty sure he won’t give a damn that we took some supplies, considering that it might, I dunno, be useful in case _someone_ who can’t heal up at once gets hurt.” Voice going almost flippant, he shrugged and stared at the dark screen. “Or because Alpha made wounds don’t heal so quickly, remember that?”

While Scott didn’t look one hundred percent convinced, he did apparently understand when to back down, because he just nodded and shoved his hands in his pocket, rocking back almost nervously on his heels. Isaac looked between them both, his own brow furrowing. Perhaps he’d start to realize that spending so much time with Scott was affecting his relationship with Stiles. 

That was one of the biggest problems with this Pack, really. They didn’t understand dynamics - that any decision would have consequences, good or bad. That clinging to your new friend (and slash or crush, perhaps) wasn’t exactly the best way to handle things. Peter didn’t exactly blame Isaac for that. The kid was fumbling and kind of awkward once anyone got past the leather jacket and the faux-badass persona. But they all needed to learn. From the couples who spend most of their time with each other (like Erica and Boyd were doing right now) to the friends drifting apart, they’d have to learn to be a cohesive group or die in the attempt.

And Peter really didn’t plan on dying because of a bunch of near-sighted teenagers, thanks.

From where he’d been looming near the window, Derek finally spoke up. “Stiles is right.” The human perked up, expression going wide for a second before he gave a smug, pleased smile. “Right now, we can get much more use out of it than Deaton can, so no sense putting it back.” Peter could see the exact moment Derek noticed Stiles’ pleased expression, because he came as close to starting as Peter had seen in the past couple of months. His face didn’t change, really, because his nephew was doing his best to pretend the muscles there had atrophied, but his shoulders shifted up just a little and then relaxed just as quickly. 

Better yet, when he turned back to Scott, Derek looked just a tiny bit _pleased_ at the reaction.

Maybe instead of revenge, Peter should get into matchmaking as a living.

Before he could ponder that life choice too long, the doorbell rang and Jackson barged in, with three pizzas and a smirk. Lydia followed him in after, nose crinkled like she couldn’t put away just as much pizza as any of the werewolves when she put her considerable mind toward it. Brow arching in bland amusement, Derek turned his gaze toward Erica, who spun her phone between her fingers and smiled back, not even bothering to feign innocence.

“Where should I put this?” Jackson asked, gesturing to the boxes. “They’re going to start burning my arms in a minute.”

Isaac blinked at him, more adept in the realm of wide-eyed innocence than Erica. “I thought you would like that? Being cold-blooded and all.”

Flashing werewolf eyes and teeth at him, Jackson growled low in the back of his throat, but even the humans could tell it was mostly play. Isaac just laughed back, smirking with the pride of someone higher on the totem pole, and Jackson huffed and looked for all the world like he wanted to stick his tongue out, but thought himself too cool for that. At his side, Lydia huffed and rolled her eyes, sharing a look of fond exasperation and quick smiles with Stiles. The humans had a way of sticking together in the wake of werewolf politics. While Jackson was busy protecting his precious self-image, Scott and Isaac cleared away Deaton’s supplies from the table so he could set down the pizza, while Boyd wordlessly grabbed a stack of paper plates from the pantry, handed one to the Alpha, and then went for the first pie himself.

For a while there was the general chaos of food time, and before long they migrated to the living room, since that had slightly more seating. Peter put in the first action-adventure movie he came across ( _Inception_ , because for all it had been called ‘cerebral’ to him, Peter was still pretty sure it was just a popcorn flick). Scott and Isaac ended up on the big couch, so Stiles narrowed his eyes at the back of their heads and stomped into the loveseat instead. His friend shot him a wide-eyed look, clearly still ignorant as to what had raised the human’s ire.

Deprived of the loveseat, the couples settled on either side of Scott and Isaac. Resisting the urge to smirk, Peter slipped into the free seat between Isaac and Erica, which left the rest of the loveseat the only avaliable place to sit.

Derek glanced at the couch and only paused for a second when he noticed that it was full. Then he settled next to Stiles like he belonged there and started to bite into his pizza. The boy frowned for a second, more confused than disturbed, before he got over it and went back to quietly sulking. He did, however, leaned over a little, like Derek needed more space than he took up. Or like he was afraid of some sort of physical response. Which wasn’t exactly unheard of, so Peter supposed he couldn’t fault him too much.

At first it didn’t seem like Derek noticed, but then he glanced over to the side, expression bland, and Stiles froze like a deer in the headlights. Nice to know the kid did have some prey instincts after all. The stared at each other for a long moment, and then Stiles slowly relaxed, bit by bit. Evidently satisfied, Derek went back to watching the movie, and the boy watched him for another beat before returning to his own food.

Was that progress? It was kind of hard to tell, to be honest. This wasn’t the first time Peter had wanted to read minds - not even today, really - but he wanted to stamp his feet in frustration now. How was he supposed to judge how well his plan was working if he couldn’t tell how they felt?

“What do you think, Peter?” Isaac’s voice startled him, and Peter whirled around a little too fast, just barely managing to keep his claws in.

Big blue eyes blinked at him, a little shy but mostly curious. Calming himself down (alright, so maybe Peter didn’t react totally well to being surprised. He figured it was forgivable), he looked between Isaac, Boyd and Erica, who were all watching him with various levels of curiosity. Really, his surprise was justified. Unless something directly required Peter, no one tended to really address him. These three might not have had to face him directly, but they’d heard what he’d done and they tended to take their cues from Derek, who still didn’t trust him at all.

Realizing he’d been staring for a while, Peter cleared his throat, feeling absurdly awkward. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. What was your question?”

Erica’s brow jumped up mockingly, but it seemed more playful than anything. It was a pity she and Boyd were probably traitors, because he kind of liked her. She had spunk. Clearly, Peter had a thing for the smart, spirited ones. “We were talking about training stuff. Derek’s got us doing loads of fighting shit, but basically nothing else. So we were thinking maybe some stuff on getting away or whatever.”

Teenagers were such poets.

But that was an interesting idea. Tilting his head slightly as he thought about it, Peter gave a slow nod. “That would certainly be useful. Perhaps we could set you off in the woods and Derek could try and follow you.”

While Isaac and Erica started to nod, looking pleased that he agreed with them, Boyd frowned and furrowed his brow. Taking that as disagreement, Peter stared right back. Once he realized what the older man was doing, Boyd gave a shrug. “Wolves hunt in packs.”

Oh, that was a good point. Alright then. “So a game of Manhunt instead of Hide and Go Seek.” Peter replied, and they all stared blankly at him. Jeez, hadn’t they ever played games with a group of other kids? Maybe they hadn’t. Awkward. “All of us searching for one person. It would be good for teaching good tactics for fleeing and tracking.” And then, because he did want to encourage that kind of thinking, he added, “Good thinking.”

He got varying levels of beaming for that, and Peter was caught between squirming at the new attention and preening. It was nice to be appreciated, but after being ignored and liking it that way, that many eyes was uncomfortable. “Would you ask Derek about it?” Isaac asked. The other two didn’t exactly agree, but the looks they sent him made it clear they’d prefer him to be the one to bring it up.

Why, though? Did they think Peter had some authority over Derek? It probably didn’t matter who brought it up, so long as it was a good idea. Then again, they had watched him convince Derek to fix up the house and make it a place to live in again, so maybe it did make sense to think he had some sort of sway over the Alpha. Still, it wasn’t his job to act like some sort of go between, and Peter completely planned on telling them to get off their lazy tails and do it themselves. 

Except, well... He’d had young eyes directed at him like that before, when the collective cousins wanted cool Uncle Peter to ask the adults if they could maybe go out for ice cream after dinner. When the balance of power was so different between kid (and teenager) and adult, he had been the go between who would listen to them.

The ache was back, and Peter fought against the urge to escape again. He didn’t have an excuse and he couldn’t _think_. So instead he said the first thing he could think of to make them _stop it_. “Yeah, alright. Don’t get your hopes up.” It was the same thing he’d always said then, and it had satisfied the cousins. 

Apparently it worked with this patchwork, Frankenstein’s Monster of a Pack too, because they all shot him grateful looks - what even _for_? It wasn’t like Derek slapped them around a lot - and went back to enthusiastically discussing possible techniques for escaping pursuers. There was a lot of nonsense like using perfume or cologne to mask their scents, which prompted Jackson to lean over from the other side of the couch to offer up something about how _Mythbusters_ had tried that.

Tuning them out for his own sanity, Peter looked around, outwardly casual but inwardly scrambling for something to distract him until his chest loosened. Instead, he caught Derek’s gaze, who was _staring_ hard at him. Resisting the urge to gulp or duck his head, Peter watched him right back, searching for all the little differences that reminded him of how different things were.

But for once it was harder to find the things that had changed, replaced by what was the same. With the casual, very nearly relaxed way Derek was leaning back into the chair and his mouth half-full of pizza, it was somehow easier to see the 16 year old that he had been. Judging by how the Alpha had frozen, eyes wide and clearly startled, Peter was willing to guess that he was being haunted by the ghosts of the Hale family as well.

Tearing away his gaze just in time to see Stiles glancing in curious confusion between them, Peter slammed his eyes closed. He didn’t want to see his nephew or any of them, and if he couldn’t leave - now that Derek knew he _definitely_ wasn’t about to run out - then he needed some way to distance himself.

Instead, Peter concentrated on the noises around him. The movie was just meaningless background noise by now, and the voices were wrong. They weren’t wrong enough, though, or maybe they’d become a new kind of normal, and there was a warmth that Peter was starting to hate building in him. But hearing wasn’t as bad as watching them, and so Peter felt himself slowly start to relax. The couch was surprisingly comfortable anyway, and with all the people gathered around, the heat had rose to something not quite stifling, but still felt like a blanket. Leaning his head back against the cushions, Peter gave himself just a few minutes to get it together, and then he’d get up and deal with the world again. Just a blink, really...

Under normal circumstances, Peter tended to wake suddenly. Once upon a time, he’d been able to laze about until the sun rose if he felt like it, but that hadn’t been the case since he woke up in the hospital. This time, though, waking was like drifting, and he was reluctant to push past the fog into the real world.

But then he realized the heavy warmth on his side was a person, and then Peter was very awake indeed.

Blinking in sleepy confusion, Peter bit back a groan as his neck immediately started to protest any movement. What the hell had he been thinking, falling asleep on the couch? He wasn’t twenty any more. Agh. Tilting his head slowly from side to side, and letting his healing take care of it, he started to take in his surroundings. The movie had finished who knows how long ago, and now the menu was looping on a low volume, and a number of the plates seemed to have been cleared up. 

A quick glance down proved that it was Isaac who was pressed against him, fast asleep and snoring. Next to him, Scott was slumped on the couch with his feet on the coffee table in a way that made Peter want to hit him for having the audacity to be the sort of flexible only teenagers seemed capable of. Lydia’s head was pillowed in Jackson’s lap, and it looked like she’d stretched out in her sleep so her legs flopped over Scott and Isaac as well. On Peter’s other side, Erica and Boyd were curled up around each other, separated from him only by a scant inch.

The ache started in Peter’s chest again as he watched them all sleep, but this time it was easier to take. Probably because he was still hazy himself and wasn’t feeling it as strongly. Or maybe he was just getting used to it.

Movement caught his eye, and Peter glanced over to see Derek picking up the rest of the plates, expression surprisingly peaceful. When their eyes met, he expected the Alpha to close off, but instead he just glanced down at Isaac with a little smirk. Peter did his best to shrug without moving his shoulders, which was more difficult than it sounded. The idea of shoving Isaac off of him did cross his mind, but Peter found himself reluctant to do it. Mostly because it would make him look awful, and not because he didn’t want to break the atmosphere. Clearly.

Derek just gave a soft snort before dumping the rest of the paper plates in a trash bag. Then he turned to the loveseat. Stiles was still there, just as asleep as his friends. From the way he was sprawled out over the whole thing, he must have fallen over when Derek got up. How he’d slept through that, Peter didn’t know.

Wait. Did that mean Stiles had fallen asleep on Derek? Not that it meant anything if he had, but it would certainly be nice. Not to mention align nicely with all the rom coms he’d watched for this.

While Peter was musing, Derek moved over to Stiles and shook his shoulder, surprisingly gentle. The human blinked his eyes open, and for a second he just stared at Derek contentedly. Then reality crashed in, and he jerked away just a little (which was a natural reaction, considering Derek was probably less than five inches away) and sat up with one sharp movement. He looked around and then shot the Alpha a sheepish smile. Clearly he hadn’t meant to fall asleep either. Rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand, Stiles pulled out his cell phone and then cursed softly at the display. Must be late, then.

Mood broken by necessity, Derek moved to wake up Isaac, Erica and Boyd, and Peter hoped he wasn’t imagining that he was being less soft than he had just a few seconds ago. On the other side, Stiles dragged Scott up unceremoniously by his shirt, chuckling slightly meanly when the Beta whined out protests, which woke up the rest.

Eventually they did get up and, when given the time (1 AM, ouch), were noticeably less reluctant to move. It didn’t take long for the ones who were leaving to get shoved out the door, and the rest up the stairs. After, Peter glanced over absently at Derek, and noticed the way his wife beater had twisted around on his torso. So he’d probably been asleep for a while there was well.

Without thinking about it, Peter reached over and tugged it straight, and then smoothed over the back. There. The wife beater was still kind of ridiculous, but considering that they’d all just been laying around he couldn’t really complain. Realizing what he was doing, Peter froze and snatched his hand back, eyes snapping automatically to Derek’s face. His nephew stared at him like he had earlier, and he leaned back just a little like he was startled by the touch. 

Feeling ridiculous, Peter looked away and shoved his hand in his pocket. What the hell was wrong with him? He had more control than that. No longer giving a damn if Derek thought he was running away, Peter started up the stairs after the other Betas, and after a second he heard Derek follow.

As Peter opened the door and slipped into his room, he heard Derek speak. “Good night, Uncle Peter.”

It wasn’t until Derek had closed his own door that Peter realized that was the first time the Alpha had called him that since he came back.


	3. The Proposal

The Pack decided to try the new tracking training two nights later, which was how Peter found himself lounging on the front porch, waiting for people to show up. Lydia had already texted that she wasn’t going to be showing up, which wasn’t a surprise. Both she and Stiles tended to spend nights like this sitting around in the backyard, watching the werewolves get tossed around. These days they did tend to talk to each other during training more often, either because Stiles was still wearing the clothes Peter had made him get or because he seemed a little less desperate these days. Like a friend instead of a lovesick idiot. Either he was getting over it or he was just being less painfully obvious. Peter would take either, though he prefered the former.

The first to arrive was Jackson’s ridiculous porsche, and he did a completely unnecessary spin before finally parking and getting out. Must have been a rough day at practice then. Poor widdle boy. Honestly, Peter didn’t get what the kids got out of the sport. After all, basketball was far superior. Not that he was biased or anything. It was simple fact.

But Jackson was more tense than he would have been because he couldn’t get enough goals past his friend or whatever the hell got him in such a tizzy during practices, and Peter narrowed his eyes at him. “Who put a bee in your bonnet?”

The Beta snorted at the slightly old saying and neatly ignored Peter’s answering huff. “Nothing.” His voice was clipped and dismissive, and no way in hell was he getting away with that. He was the bottom of the totem, and one day Jackson was going to learn to act like it - at least when Derek wasn’t snarling at him in Alpha form. In fact, that day could be today.

As Jackson moved to pass by him and step into the house, Peter snagged his arm and pulled him closer. The Beta tugged, instinctively trying to get away, but his grip was good, so Jackson eventually settled on scowling instead. “The truth, if you please?”

“And if I don’t?” Jackson snapped back, baring his teeth. Rolling his eyes, Peter snapped right back. Impertinent brat. “Yeah, still not feeling it.”

Tightening his grip slightly, Peter stared up hard at Jackson’s suddenly sharp blue eyes. “I can start breaking bones if you’d prefer.”

Jackson frowned. “You wouldn’t.”

Idiot. He should know better than that. He’d been there when Peter had been Alpha, after all. “It would be traditional, really. Just because we’re both Beta doesn’t mean we’re the same.” Peter squeezed a little harder, and Jackson winced as his bones creaked. “You’ll heal, so what does it matter? It’ll just hurt for a little while.”

For a second Jackson watched him, just shy of pouting, before he gave one final yank and sighed. “Fine, okay. Jeez. Let go and I’ll tell you.” Smiling with far too much teeth to be anything but smug, Peter did. “For the record, I didn’t let go because of your stupid threats.”

Yeah, sure, kid. “Noted,” he drawled back, if only so that Jackson would get on with it already.

Shifting, Jackson stared at the tracks from his car rather than Peter. “They were at my house.”

Stomach twisting, Peter frowned at him. “The Alphas?” Jackson snorted again, unimpressed by that particular statement of the obvious, and this time he older man let it go. “What did they want?”

“Same thing with Scott. Blah blah you will have great power blah. We’ll spare your parents. Bit late for that, huh?” Jackson sneered at his car.

Peter tilted his head. “Funny thing about adoptive parents is that they’re still your parents, actually.”

That earned him a particularly nasty glare, and Peter just shrugged. If he didn’t want to hear it, that was his problem, but they were his parents so long as he accepted them as such. But if he wanted to be a miserable pile of angst about it, he was free to do so. As long as Peter didn’t have to hear about it. “And you weren’t planning on telling anyone about this?” That was a problem, actually. It meant that Jackson was _considering_ it, which wasn’t okay at all.

Snorting, Jackson shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. I was gunna tell Derek. I just wasn’t going to tell _you_.”

Ah. That did make sense, even if it was irritating. Worse, Peter couldn’t figure out why that made him bristle. Probably because it kept him out of the loop, but that explanation didn’t feel quite right. “I see,” he replied, for lack of anything better, and Jackson started toward the door again.

Before he opened it, however, Jackson paused. “I really didn’t believe you’d do it.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” Peter responded easily, leaning back against the house and crossing his arms.

Turning his head, Jackson caught his gaze. “If you think so, then I’m not the one who’s an idiot.” Peter scowled at him, preparing to show him exactly how wrong he was, but the kid just shrugged. “I get it, you know?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

Hand tightening around the knob, Jackson stared at the door. “Because I did it too. Murder lizard, remember?” Peter’s eyes widened just a little, because it was rare for the boy to talk about that time. Mostly he claimed he didn’t remember much, which had always seemed like utter bullshit. “I get being out of control and more than half-crazed.”

So? Jackson really wasn’t trying to compare their situations, was he? “The point, please.”

“It’s just... You have to let it go.” Gesturing with his free hand between Peter and the open air, Jackson’s face twisted with frustration. “You can’t hold on to this stuff. It just drives you crazy.”

Snorting, Peter turned away, going back to watching the dirt path that lead to the road. “I think it’s already been established that I’m not exactly sane,” he replied, voice sharp and clipped. “There’s also a difference between letting go of the ridiculous idea of personal perfection and having one’s whole family burned to death.”

Letting out a noise too thin to be a laugh, Jackson shook his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Just- oh, forget it. If you don’t wanna listen, that’s your damn problem.” Yanking the door open, Jackson stamped through it and slammed it closed behind him. 

Huffing, Peter scowled at the tree line. Stupid brat thought he knew everything. Yes, he’d lost his parents young, but that wasn’t the same thing as living with them for decades and then having them ripped away, especially considering his loving adoptive family. He knew _nothing_.

Only the belief that Peter was a mature adult who was above temper tantrums kept him from scratching the hell out of that stupid porsche. 

***

When Scott and Stiles finally arrived, Peter directed them toward the back and hustled after. Some of his lingering irritation must have showed, because both sent him odd glances as they trekked through the house.

In the backyard, Boyd and Erica had ganged up on Isaac and were currently working on pinning him to the ground, despite his struggles and howls of protest. From his spot on the back porch, Jackson was mocking any sloppy movies that he saw, while Derek looked torn between being amused at their antics and wanting to bash his head against a wall or something. Whatever bug that had settled into permanent residence in his nephew's ass still made him think that misery was the key to successful wolfdom, but since Boyd and Erica's near disappearing act, he'd stopped attempting to enforce it on them. Frankly, it was nearly unbearable to look at, much less live with, but Peter wasn't exactly swimming in choices.

Once he figured out what was going down, Scott shifted and then dashed past Jackson and jumped on Boyd, momentum and the element of surprise giving him enough of an advantage to bowl the other Beta over. Left with only one opponent, Isaac was able to knock Erica away enough to scamper up. He turned on her, but she bared her fangs and her impressive claws – Peter wanted to know if there was a correlation between fingernail care and claw strength, because if so he wouldn't exactly be against putting some more effort in, assuming the payoff was worth it – and instead he turned and joined in Scott's tussle with Boyd.

It was almost cute, in a irritating sort of way.

A glance to his side proved that Stiles was frowning at the group, shoulders hunched just a little. Aww, was the little human feeling left out? Well, tough cookies. He'd been offered the Bite multiple times, since Peter could certainly arrange it if he liked, but he preferred to be human.

But the kid just looked _pathetic_ , and Peter found himself patting Stiles on the shoulder once. He started, apparently not expecting anyone to pay him any mind, and then shrugged a little, like he was shaking off his own emotions. Yeah, good luck with that. Attention now back on Peter, Stiles narrowed his eyes. “You alright?”

Tension returning, Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine. Honestly, am I not allowed to be a little irritated without being scrutinized?”

Eyebrows jumping up, Stiles gave him a little smirk. “Can you blame us?”

Peter went still, studying the boy's face. It was rare for any of them to outright talk about what he'd done before. Honestly, it was probably easier for most of them to deal with if they tried to forget, since they needed to put up with him. The fact that Derek had his chance to do as much damage as he liked seemed to have helped as well. But no one had ever _joked_ about it.

“I certainly can,” Peter finally replied, just a little slowly. “Surely I have proved myself a completely sane and well adjusted person.”

Snorting in amusement, Stiles leaned back on his heels and gave him an honest grin. After a second it faltered, but it was odd to get the expression at all, and Peter found himself almost wanting more. For strategy purposes. Obviously. Not from anything sentimental, for certain. That had all been literally burned out of him long ago. At least, it had when he'd been Alpha, operating on rage and bloodlust. “Oh, yeah. The picture of mental health right here. We should all follow your example.”

Now, really. Peter was a rational man. At this point in time, at least. While he was very pleased to see Stiles feeling easy around him, it didn't make sense. He'd physically attacked and then psychologically tortured a girl that the kid had not only crushed on for years, but considered a good friend. He'd killed people, and that very nearly included the boy himself. So, he didn't understand how Stiles could simply _laugh_ in the face of it.

Something of his internal confusion must have shown on his face – and wasn't that just _comforting_ \- because Stiles brow furrowed. “Dude,” he started, and Peter braced himself because it seemed to be the way of the teenager to start ridiculous, emotional, half-coherent talks with that word. “It's not okay. It'll never _be_ okay.” Stiles shrugged, looking awkward. Peter knew the feeling. “But that doesn't mean that's all there'll ever be, you know? Life trucks onward and all that. So... yeah.” With that the kid ducked away and went into the yard part of the backyard, stepping carefully around the brawl to hover near Derek, apparently determining that to be an acceptable post-talk distance. The Alpha eyed him oddly, but otherwise accepted his presence by his side without protest.

And damn it all, Peter couldn't even _enjoy_ that, because he was still trying not to gap at Stiles. In an effort to distract himself, he looked around and caught Jackson's eye. The little brat had the audacity to smirk at him, expression smug enough to say 'I told you so' without the words. Damn him for eavesdropping, anyway. He bared his fangs at the Beta, but Jackson just turned his gaze away, seeming completely unconcerned.

Glaring down at him, Peter sneered. Then he looked up until he caught Erica's gaze. Giving his own smug smirk, he pointed down at Jackson. Her eyes lit up, and she tugged at Boyd and Isaac's shirts to get their attention, before launching herself at Jackson with a roar. Caught unawares, Jackson had no time to react before she was yanking him off the porch and onto the dirt, followed quickly by Boyd and Isaac, and then Scott.

Ha. Revenge was sweet.

Once they'd all settled down and prepared to get down to actual work, Derek whistled to get their attention. “We'll be doing a new training technique tonight. All of us will be tracking down one person.” Erica, Boyd and Isaac all shared a silent high five, and Peter rolled their eyes at them.

Frowning up at him, Scott tilted his head. “But shouldn't we be working on fighting? The Alphas are gunna be tough, right? So if we don't get better we won't be able to stand a chance.”

Jackson snorted. “If all of them come for you again, you won't stand a chance anyway.” He pointed out, superior tones almost distracting from the way Scott went tense at the reminder of meeting them all that day. “At least try to keep up, McCall.”

Before the inevitable shoving match could get started, Derek glared at them both and continued on. “Usually, I'll be picking who gets chased.” At that, they all straightened up, not wanting to look like the weakest, because that was exactly who Derek would pick. “But this is the first time. So, if anyone wants to go first-” All of the werewolves were staring at him, expression clearly reluctant, but Stiles' hand shot up. “What do you want?”

“I'm volunteering,” Stiles explained, tone slow, like he was talking to someone who wasn't terribly bright. Derek clearly thought the same in reverse, because he narrowed his eyes at the human. “I have some ideas.” The kid smiled at them all, entirely too sunny to be anything but plotting, and Peter freely admitted he was curious when he had planned. “Besides, what else am I going to do? Sit around and wait for you to get back?”

For a second, Derek just kept staring, and Peter got the feeling he was reluctant to let the fragile human go gallivanting off in the woods for however long it took them to track him down. But when he glanced at the lupine members of his Pack, it was clear none of them were volunteering, so he sighed. “Fine.”

Stiles bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly excited. “10 minute head start for the human?”

Groaning, Derek rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “ _Fine_ , just go already.”

Shooting him a bright grin, Stiles gave a mocking salute and then patted Derek on the arm (and, Derek _let_ him, which was a shock) before darting into the forest, disappearing into the brush.

For a second they all just listened to the sound of his footsteps fading, before Boyd snorted. “At least we get a easy first run. Just follow the babble.”

Scott looked like he wanted to defend his friend, but eventually just shrugged. No one, not even him, could deny that one.

The 10 minute wait was excruciating. The promise of having something to chase set off the kids, and they were all tense and jumpy. Not to mention eerily silent, which was a first. Peter wasn’t complaining about that one. Derek looked calm as he stared down at his watch, eyes narrowed but posture relaxed. But his gaze kept darting up to the tree line, scanning the greenery before snapping back down in place. Peter couldn’t tell if he was worried or excited like his Pack, but if he had to guess he might venture both. The human running around unprotected was a scary prospect, made worse by the fact that the Alpha Pack still weren’t doing anything but waiting around and talking to them one by one. Who knew what their real plan was?

That, and it would figure that Stiles would trip and crack his head open in a simple training exercise.

Well, at least he should be simple to track down.

Finally, Derek nodded, and the Pack burst into movement. Because they were all _idiots_ , they most just ran off willy-nilly, each determined to catch Stiles without stopping to think that it would be easier to do it together. Because obviously Pack was just a title and not something to live up to. Clearly. Why oh why had he ended up with a bunch of moronic teenagers?

Not that their Alpha was any better. Derek stayed where he was and watched them go, probably more out of some odd administrative idea, then didn’t even glance back at Peter before he darted off as well. Actually, he was worse, since Derek _knew_ better. The years had not done him well in that aspect. 

Sighing to himself, Peter followed after Derek, falling in line easily enough. This was familiar, even if had been more than half a decade. The Alpha glanced back at him, looking surprised for a moment, before he nodded and went back to searching for Stiles’ scent. Ah, well, he’d learn. Hopefully before someone - specifically _Peter_ \- got hurt.

Between their knowledge of the forest, of Stiles, and the extra sharp sense of the Alpha, it wasn’t hard to catch the human’s trail at all. Following the path of the creek - if Stiles’ ‘idea’ had been the supposed water trick Peter was going to have to rethink his opinion of the boy, because a simple internet search could disprove that one - they soon moved into a natural clearing, where the bright red of Stiles’ coat was easily visible in the dim moonlight. 

The kid hadn’t even ditched his jacket? That was incredibly stupid. Downwind as they were, Peter could smell several of the Betas approaching fast, and hear them speed up as they caught sight of the clothing. But Peter and Derek were slightly closer, and the Alpha had speed on his side.

As they got closer, Peter paused, because something was very wrong with this scenario. But before he could figure it out, Derek snarled and bounded forward, wrapping his arms around the jacket. He hit the ground with animalistic grace, cradling his bundle gently so that he wouldn’t hurt the kid.

Then Derek relaxed his arms, and the jacket fell open, pinecones tumbling out. It had just been hanging from a nearby tree and stuffed. Which meant... A whistle made him whirl around, and Peter could see Stiles duck out from behind the tree and give a flash of a grin before he held out his hand. 

There was the hissing sound of an aerosol can going off, and Derek suddenly collapsed to the ground, wheezing and gagging. A second later Peter started to cough as well, because holy _hell_ that smelled terrible. It burned his throat and made his eyes water, and he had to cover his nose with his shirt to try and get some relief.

Pepper spray! The little shit had used _pepper spray_.

Whistling cheerfully, despite the two werewolves hacking in front of him (or maybe three, because through the noise they were making, Peter thought he might have heard one of the other Betas exclaim in disgust), Stiles pocketed the spray and grinned down at Derek. The Alpha ripped off his shirt and threw it in the opposite direction, and the smell lessened a bit. “You should start running again,” he advised, voice a low rasp, and Stiles just smiled back and pulled a packet of moist towelettes out of his other pocket.

“C’mon, admit it, I got you good.” Kneeling down next to him, Stiles ripped open the package and pulled out one of the towels, helping to clean off Derek’s chest. And this time Peter was sure he didn’t imagine the appreciate look the teenager gave his nephew’s impressive musculature. Then again, so did anyone with eyes and a sex drive, so that only said so much.

Slowly, the smell started to fade, and Peter was able to take a deep breath again. Staring at Stiles pocket, he crinkled his nose, because he could still get a whiff of when the wind blew. “How on Earth did you hide that stuff?”

Stiles shot him a grin, still absently wiping at Derek's chest, even though he probably wasn't doing any more good at this point. The Alpha let him, though Peter wasn't sure if it was because he was too busy giving little coughs or because he didn't mind getting rubbed down by Stiles. “It was still in the packaging. The heavy duty kind, straight from the police station.”

Taking a deep breath, Derek shook his head like a dog with fleas and stared at Stiles. After a second, he swiped at the kid's head, but it was so gentle that he barely moved from it. The human stared at him for a second, like he wasn't sure why it had been more cuff than hit, but didn't question it. Glancing down, Stiles stared at his own hand as it continued to rub the long since dirtied wipe over Derek's chest and snapped it back suddenly, like he'd been burned.

“Never do that again,” Derek finally said, his own hand running absently over where Stiles had cleaned off. To be fair, that spot looked wet, and the weather was certainly warming up, but it was still kind of chilly. “At least, not at training.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles huffed, having recovered from his moment of awkward. “Oh, fine, you furry wuss. Just be glad I'm nice enough not to hit you in the face with it. I'm saving that for the Alphas.” He enthusiastically mimed spraying Derek's face, complete with hissing sound effects, and Derek stared back with a deadpan expression.

Now that the air was clear, the rest of the Pack dared to get closer. To Peter's mild surprise, it was Isaac who trotted over first, grinning in clear excitement. “Is that the flammable kind?” He asked, eyes alight.

Well, how was that for an opening.

Swallowing the immediate discomfort, because that was stupid and Peter refused to be turned into some sort of emotional wreck just because someone mentioned fire, thank you very much, he stuck his hands in his pocket and watched as Stiles opened his mouth to answer. Then paused, brow furrowing as he thought about it. A quick glance over at Derek – out of curiosity to see how he reacted, mind, and not at all because he was worried or something equally inane - showed that the Alpha was looking away into the tree line, the somehow playful air he'd had with Stiles dissolving away. Even from here, he could tell his nephew was grinding his teeth, and Peter arched a brow. Wow, he was taking it badly, considering it had been a long time. While he'd spent those years in mental prison, Derek had been gallivanting off in New York with his sister, hadn't he? Surely he should have some distance by now.

“Ah... yeah, looks like it. 'Keep away from heat'. Were you guessing or could you tell by the scent or something?” Stiles finally asked, voice surprisingly neutral as he replied to Isaac. The Beta shifted a little, almost like he was put out, and if he'd had it tail it would be drooping. That was a bit of a surprise to Peter, actually. He knew Stiles didn't exactly like the guy, since he clearly felt his best friend was being stolen, but he hadn't known Isaac _cared_.

Once he stilled again, Isaac shook his head. “I was just wondering. Since, you know, that'd be useful, right? For setting traps or whatever.”

Stiles just shrugged. “I guess, maybe. Depends on the stuff in it, and I can't say I've ever lit pepper spray on fire before.”

Eyes big and hopeful, Isaac shot him an almost shy look, before he did that thing where he straightened up and tried to look like a badass because he was under the impression that made people like him better or something. The poor moron still didn't get that no, it just made him look like an ass. “We should do that. Soon.”

Stiles looked distinctly unimpressed, which made sense considering he scoffed in the faces of Alphas. “Lemme guess, you need a human around to actually spray the stuff?”

Deflating, a little, Isaac shook his head. “No, man. I mean, well, yeah. That's true. But you should be there. It's your spray, for one, and I just thought that you'd wanna...” He shot Stiles a helpless look, the asshole look visibly falling apart. Aww, the widdle Beta wanted to make fwends. It was a good thing Peter was a werewolf, or else he would be developing diabetes.

“Oh,” Ah, there he went. Stiles figured it out. Well done, you. Gold star. “Okay. I guess we could do that.”

Padding over, Scott flopped down next to Stiles, pressing their shoulders together. “Yeah, it'll be cool.”

Eying them all, Derek let out a lost gust of air, nostrils flaring, before looking away again. “Just don't do it here.” There was a quiet moment where the three realized what they were talking about, where, and around who, and they at least had the grace to look chastised. “Now get up and stop wasting time. We have training to do.”

“Oh, good,” Jackson drawled, rolling his shoulders like he’d done anything worth of the athletic gesture. “I was afraid this was going to end with another roll around in the dirt.” He ran a hand through his still slightly messy hair, which unleashed a small shower of fine dirt, and then glared back at Erica. The girl grinned back, too busy being smug to bother looking repent, and Jackson snorted back at her and turned away. Not like he could do anything more, after all. That’s what he got for being as low in the rankings as he was.

Rolling his eyes at his Pack’s banter, Derek finally stood and brushed himself off, and then dragged Stiles up by his upper arm. Stiles yelped in protest, although he didn’t actually struggle, and Scott glared up at Derek like he was still under the ridiculous impression that he was the human’s ‘Alpha’. Without so much as asking permission, Derek shoved a hand into Stiles’ pocket, and the boy went rigid and ever so slightly pink, just barely visible in the pale light of the moon. Poor kid. Having his nephew stick his hand into his pants and crowd in close would be enough to fluster just about anyone. Not that Peter was at all sympathetic. In fact, he was wondering how often he could make similar scenarios happen in the near future.

After a few seconds of pawing at Stiles’ thigh - and, really now, exactly how long did it take to get a little bottle? - Derek pulled out the pepper spray, nose wrinkled in distaste. No kidding. Peter could smell the residue on the can from here, and he had absolutely no desire to get closer. Since the thing was basically at Scott’s nose level, the poor Beta gave up scowling up at Derek to sneeze and cover his nose. For a moment, Derek just stared down at it, and then he poked at Stiles’ chest, right about where he’d been hit by the stuff. “Get more.” Stiles blinked at him, still looking a little confused and flustered, but nodded. His nephew seemed to consider that for a moment, before his eyes narrowed even further. “Did your father ever teach you how to shoot?”

Stiles snorted. “You kidding me? My dad still has issues trusting me with the oven, much less a lethal weapon.” He could cook? Oh, Peter might have to get him to prove that one. It would be nice to have a meal that didn’t come out of a microwave once in awhile.

But Derek didn’t look pleased by the answer. “Get him how to teach you. And then get a gun.”

A deep frown crossed Stiles’ face, and he rocked back on his heels. “Yeah, it’s that simple. Sure. I’ll just tell him you suggested it, that’ll work.” But when Derek’s expression didn’t change from his intense staring, the human finally sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll ask him. No promises, dude.”

Still staring at him with narrowed eyes, Derek paused, probably to test Stiles’ word. He was telling the truth, so far as Peter could tell, and apparently the Alpha didn’t find anything either. Finally, he shoved the pepper spray into the boy’s hands, which he promptly fumbled before putting it back away in his pockets.

Turning his gaze to the rest of the back, Derek drew himself up. “Any volunteers for the next round?”

This time the Betas looked much less reluctant, and Scott popped up from the ground, irritation forgotten and replaced by enthusiasm. “I’ll go!” Waving his hand like a know-it-all in class, Scott bounced on the balls of his feet. “Do I get ten minutes?”

“How about ten seconds?” Derek replied, in the low, bland tone that meant he was secretly amused. Scott frowned, but then shrugged in acceptance. “Starting now.”

Pausing just long enough to stick out his tongue at the rest of the Pack, Scott shifted and darted off. He really was quite fast, considering how long he’d been a werewolf. Or maybe Peter’s standards were just lowering after so long with these children. Scary thought.

Turning to look at Peter, Derek tilted his head at Stiles. “Take him back to the house.” And that ended Scott’s ten second advantage, so he dashed off in hot pursuit, the rest of the Betas on his heels. This time they were more tightly clustered, and Peter hoped they’d maybe actually learned something tonight. It’d be a nice change.

Peter was left with the human trying not to gape in the direction the Pack had darted off in. Not that he particularly cared about being left out of the training, mind, but because that was almost _trusting_. He could easily turn around and slice Stiles’ throat open right now. Of course he wouldn’t, since he didn’t exactly having both the Alpha Pack and this one on his tail, but that didn’t stop Peter from feeling almost pleased. His nephew trusted him to take care of the human. One whose well being he cared for, even, as proven by that little interrogation a minute ago. Huh. That was something.

Because it was good for his plans, obviously. That was why he was pleased. Clearly.

Getting control of himself, he turned to Stiles, who was poking the bottle of pepper spray through his pants pocket. “Let’s go, then.” Pushing gently at Stiles’ back, he started back toward the house.

“Aww, aren’t you going to carry me?” Stiles pouted at him, smile twitching at the edges of his mouth. “I was looking forward to it. Now I’m disappointed.”

Arching a brow at him, Peter smirked. “I could hold you upside down by your ankle, if you’d prefer.”

Stiles tilted his head and tapped his chin like he was thinking about it. “Nah, that’s okay. I can walk. Healthy exercise.”

“Thought so.”

***

The worst thing about coming back to life just in time for a Pack war was definitely grocery shopping. There was nothing redeeming about it at all. You picked out food, had to debate about who would eat what and did he really want to spend that much on a box of freaking cookies, and then he stood in line for entirely too long and had to trek all the way back to the house with bags of the terrible junk food every ate. He’d hated it before, and he hated it now. The only plus was that with the odd hours Peter tended to shop at, there was a very low likelihood of running into anyone who might recognize him and shouldn’t. Not that he would have minded to run into Melissa McCall, but her son would throw an absolute hissy fit over it, and it really wasn’t worth the awkward conversation that would no doubt ensue.

Still, it wasn’t exactly welcome when a distraction rolled around. Especially when that distraction came with the almost spicy scent of Alpha. Peter had never had the _pleasure_ of being in a room with more than two Alphas himself, and it turned out that the distinctive smell become almost suffocating when a group of them worked together. It was like the pepper spray, in a way, and Peter wondered if they could smell it and were simply used to it, or if they were immune to what they put off.

Sighing, Peter paused, waiting to see if he was about to be attacked. Really, this just wasn’t the place for a fight. There were tons of little objects that would get in the way, and Peter didn’t think tripping over a soap can onto the claws of an Alpha was the way he wanted to go for the second time. Looking around, he spotted a woman with red eyes and long, dark hair watching him. Her arms were crossed and she leaned against the shelves, looking utterly unconcerned. Fair enough. She was an Alpha with her unusual Pack the next aisle over, and he was still recovering from that whole back from the dead thing. Terribly inconvenient. 

Part of him wanted to dally, hoping they’d get bored of waiting and just run off to wherever they went when they weren’t trying to make turncoats out of the Pack. But that wasn’t going to happen. So instead Peter trudged up to the front and handed his half-full basket to the girl behind the customer service desk with a story about an emergency that required him to leave immediately. Without waiting for her reaction, he made his way out of the store and into the parking lot, and then waited.

With startling abruptness, two figures walked over on either side, wearing identical smirks and identical faces. Oh, great, twins. Scott hadn’t mentioned that. Understandably, perhaps, much as Peter wasn’t feeling particularly generous at the moment. The newly minted werewolf would have no idea that twins were always a little odd when it came to the supernatural. Or maybe it was old superstition, but Peter still believed that even the strangest, most nonsensical stories had a grain or two of truth. It seemed much more believable right now, too, since the way they _mirrored_ each other so perfectly was eerie.

The twins effectively boxed him in, and the woman from before came forward, this time accompanied by a broad, pale man with short, almost white-blonde hair. She stayed a respectful half step behind him. So he was the Alpha among Alphas, huh? There had better be more to him, because so far Peter wasn’t too impressed.

“Peter Hale,” the man drawled out, one pale eyebrow rising and dark eyes piercing. He sounded like a cliched villain, to be honest. Or maybe a distant relative of the Malfoy’s, if one ignored the lack of a English accent. “Nice to finally meet you. I admit, I’ve been looking forward to this. After all, that was an impressive thing you pulled off.”

Cliche or no, Peter couldn’t help but feel a little raised by that. Finally, someone acknowledged how amazing his plan was. Really, how many people managed to come back from the dead? Damn few. But that wasn’t enough to get his attention, and certainly not enough to sway him. Being in Derek’s Pack was still the best thing for his revenge. Well, at the moment. “Pity I can’t say the same. Your reputation doesn’t precede you in this case. The only thing I know about you is that lovely symbol you carved onto the remains of my family’s house.” The twins snickered in uncanny unison, and Peter wanted to smack them. Instead, he kept his eyes on the leader.

He just got a slow smile back, and it might have been friendly if not for the fangs. “Oh, that’s not important.” Peter disagreed. “What’s important here is what you want. Revenge. Actually, no, I’m not sure that’s the right word. Justice, maybe.”

And damn him for being easy, but the leader knew Peter’s number. “While I appreciate your wording, I’d like an explanation. How do you know that?”

This time it was the woman who replied, tilting her head almost professionally. “We have sources. But I’m sure you realize that we can’t disclose them to you.”

“At least not yet.” The leader added smoothly, offering another of those not-friendly smiles. “What’s important here is that we want to help you. The Argents are a plague, but they’re not the only ones out there. Plenty of other hunters have worked with them over the years. And just because some of them weren’t there for the fire doesn’t mean they didn’t help.”

Peter’s stomach dropped, because that could be the answer to one of the questions he’d wanted answered for years. How had Kate Argent _known_ them? She’d known the best time to come, the best path to take to the house, how to get close and not be caught by any of the nearly a dozen werewolves had been there. Somehow she had insider information, and Peter still had no idea how she’d done it. If she’d had other hunters outside of the few he’d already killed... well, it didn’t explain it all, but it was better than nothing.

In short, Peter was really listening now. “And why on Earth do you care?” He finally asked, voice going snappish as his mind worked over that new possibility.

“Because who’s next? What poor family could be burned alive tomorrow? Honestly, Peter, we’re here to help.” The leader’s smile had gone downright _syrupy_ , and Peter resisted the urge to spit out the bad taste in his mouth. Really, what was with those horrible lines? He’d been known to throw off something dramatic now and again, but these characters were on a whole other level. “Don’t think we’re the bad guys here. That’s not the case.”

No, because Peter was the villain in this story. He was self-aware enough to know that. Or maybe the anti-hero, since he was taking out an evil worse than himself. “Attempting to split apart my Pack has not really endeared me to you. Let me be blunt here. Why the _hell_ should I trust you?”

One of the twins moved closer, while the other drew himself up a little, probably trying to look imposing. Peter still had two inches on him, but they both seemed like the kind of twitchy that led to sudden, violent attacks, and he didn’t like his odds with them. “Because your Pack is wrong.” The closer one hissed out, voice lower than Peter had expected of them. 

“Oh, really? Darn, I guess we shouldn’t apply for Team Jeopardy, then. Crush my dreams, why don’t you,” Peter drawled back, tone dripping with poison. Wrong. His whole Pack were irritating little cretins, and he’d be happy to see the end of them all - the sooner the better, honest - but an almost defensive irritation rose in him, sudden and hot. How dare they?

The leader gave a chuckle that couldn’t have sounded more fake. “You have wit, Peter, I’ll certainly give you that. What he means is that the Pack structure is flawed. The Alpha has entirely too much power over their Betas. I’m sure you’ve felt it yourself - it takes away your will. He _controls_ you. And, a few months ago, you controlled Scott McCall. It’s not right.” Leader gave him a smile that looked much more natural, but it lit his eyes in a way that made Peter want to shudder and take a step back. “We’ve proven that you can have a pack entirely of Alphas. Everyone is equal. No one has to be _enslaved_.”

Taking a step forward, and then another, followed by the woman, Leader left Peter basically trapped against the trunk of the car. “Your cause is worthy, and you know what it feels like to be an Alpha. We’ll be happy to help you on your mission if you can help up break up the unhealthy relationship those poor teenagers have gotten themselves into. Do you see now? We’re helping everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Peter pointed out quickly, more to be contrary than anything. “Those ‘poor teenagers’ will be Omegas.”

Meeting his eyes dead on, Leader nodded once, his own gaze still burning eerily, even without the aid of Alpha red. “Better Omegas than slaves.”

Peter swallowed, against his better judgement, and he could tell they picked up every weakness he showed. Jumping on the opportunity, the woman offered a small, bland smile. “We have many, many resources at our disposal. Finding all the hunters who ever worked with the Argents would be simple, as would tracking down every branch member of the family. For such a noble cause, it would be worth it. And just imagine how much easier it would be to take them down if you were Alpha again.”

Damn. Damn them for being _right_. It would be. In fact, it would be _simple_.

Peter liked simple plans. And the one he was working with right now was anything but. Their offer was tempting in all the worst ways.

But he didn’t have to agree now. Peter didn’t have to agree _ever_ , actually, but they didn’t have to know that. “I’ll think about it,” he finally responded. And it was true. Peter was sure he’d be thinking about this quite a lot in the future.

“Good.” Leader offered another of those fake smiles and backed off. The others followed his lead at once, and suddenly Peter felt like he could breath again. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again soon, Peter Hale.”

And simple as that, they all split up and walked away.

Slowly, Peter let out a slow gust of breath. Then he slipped back into Derek’s car, turned it on, and drove slowly back to the house. Once there, he quickly told the Alpha about meeting the enemy Pack. He gave a brief description of each, and how they’d offered him a place in their ranks, if he became an Alpha.

He didn’t mention how they offered to help him. He didn’t mention anything about the revenge. And he didn’t tell him about the possibility that other hunters had been involved with the attack that killed their family.

That night, Peter dreamt of the fire. He woke up at 2 AM and stared at the ceiling until dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I still suck at waiting a full week before updating.
> 
> A wild plot appears!


	4. The Back-up Plan

For a few days after the confrontation with the Alphas, things settled back down. Well, maybe that wasn’t accurate. Things were the same as they’d always been, except that perhaps his nephew letting go of a little more tension he’d had toward him. It was Peter that was settling. Not that he’d made a decision either way. Trusting those four Alphas would be stupid. They were in it for the good of werewolf kind? Please. Until he knew what they really wanted, there was no way he was playing into their hands.

Honestly, Peter was tempted to simply put what they’d offered out of his head completely. Yes, he could gain something there, but it was _stupidly_ dangerous. The only reason he hadn’t was that, well, Peter hadn’t been as successful as he’d hoped so far. When he’d first concocted his little plan, he’d figured Derek and Stiles would be together by now and he could run around as he pleased. But instead the two of them were only just becoming comfortable around each other, and the rest of the Pack was starting to notice him more, even if it was in a ‘positive’ way. Not to mention that with the Alphas running around, he didn’t have the chance to do _anything_. Unless Peter listened to them and joined up. Via killing his nephew. But Peter had tried that before. He’d nearly succeeded too. It couldn’t be that hard to try again. Hell, Derek slept across the hall. It would be easier. Maybe.

But what they’d said to him brought up two interesting thoughts. First, that the Alpha Pack most certainly knew more than they should. Peter had been hoping that they’d just used vague words or trickery to convince the others. But, no, that wasn’t the case. And Peter had no clue how. Could the French teacher have that sort of knowledge? Both her and Deaton had been uncanny, so it was possible. Any of the Pack would know these days. Erica and Boyd hadn’t known when they were first surrounded, which might have taken some of Peter’s suspicions off of them, except that they could have informed the Alphas any time since.

In short, his assessment of their threat level had gotten even higher, and Peter had no better guesses as to how. Which was just fantastic, obviously.

Secondly, now Peter wanted to know what the others had been offered. Erica and Boyd were still mum on the fact that they’d obviously been spoken to, and Jackson hadn’t admitted anything during his post-talk tantrum. But Peter thought he could guess what the Alphas would give them. Erica and Boyd would be offered safety - that they’d get away from the awful situation that had been Derek’s Alphahood. That in return for one becoming Alpha, the other would be protected. Jackson, on the other hand, craved power. Perfection. He wanted to be on top, a position he wasn’t generally suited for. Just pointing out that he could be Alpha would probably be enough for him. Scott had told them, perhaps without realizing what it was - his mother would be protected. He’d taken it as a threat, and it basically was, but he might have missed the part where it was also an _offer_ , since no doubt Gerard had worded it nearly the same without meaning it as such..

Peter was really starting to hate this web that was forming around them. It was frustrating when he wasn’t the one controlling the strings. But, if push came to shove, he was more spider than the rest of them. He could make this work if he had to. 

But of course things kept happening while Peter was distracted and lost in thought. And that was how he found himself confused when he walked downstairs to find Stiles in the kitchen, Isaac hovering at his side. Both of them were decked out in aprons, and Peter winced a little at the hideous, bright colors.

It wasn’t exactly odd to find the human down here, and even less so for Isaac, but the cooking was new. The fact that Stiles was babbling out directions reassuringly normal, though. “Okay, so, here, you just keep mashing these until they’re mostly creamy, but not all the way.”

Isaac frowned just a little, but took the potato masher easily enough. “But I thought they were supposed to be all smooth.” He went up on his tiptoes to peer into the pot a little better. “And aren’t they supposed to be peeled?

Shrugging, Stiles shifted over to the counter where a number of ingredients from God knows where had been lined up. “Depends on the kind. A little peel is fine, and if it’s not going into anything else a little bit of lump adds texture.” Apparently content to take him at his word, Isaac just went about his duty, a little smile at the corner of his lips and shoulders relaxing a little. He just liked being helpful, didn’t he? That could be admirable, Peter supposed, except that he had no intentions of admiring and much more of using it to his advantage. 

Padding down the rest of the steps, he arched a brow at them, and got two sunny smiles in return. “What’s all this, then?”

Blinking innocently at him, Isaac gestured toward the pot of what was presumably boiled potatoes. “Dinner,” he informed him, with the exact same kind of tone he might use to explain a simple concept to a very young child.

Peter drew back his lips in something like a snarl, though he didn’t flash his fangs, and Isaac just smirked back. “Really. How fascinating. Now would you mind explaining _why_ you’re making dinner? And where this all came from, while you’re at it.”

One brow arched, and Stiles tilted his head. “I said I’d make dinner for everyone tonight. I brought this stuff from my house. Weren’t you paying attention yesterday?” As a matter of fact, he hadn’t been, and Peter just stared back. “Thanks. Feeling all warm and fuzzy now that I know you ignore me.”

Ignoring the ridiculous impulse to _reassure_ Stiles or something equally touchy-feely, Peter just shrugged noncommittally. Stiles pouted, and Isaac reached over with the hand that wasn’t holding the odd instrument to pat his shoulder calmingly. Looking a little surprised at the touch, the human gave him a small but pleased smile back.

Coming up behind them, Peter took a good whiff of the air to catch the scents of the food. “Oh, chicken? I approve.”

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles swiped at him with the wooden spoon, making Peter take a step back. “Nuh-uh, you don’t get to stick your nose in here unless you’re helping. Are you helping?” Looking at where Isaac was still studiously mashing the potatoes, Peter shook his head. “Then go. You’re banished to the backyard with the rest of them.”

“No one else wanted to help either?” Peter asked, amused.

Sighing, Stiles put down the spoon and held up six fingers, checking them off for each remaining member of the Pack. “Scott is banned from the kitchen after the Great Cookie Debacle of 2009, Erica laughed at me, Boyd said he’d do it for 20 bucks, Lydia said that’s what chefs are for, Jackson laughed too and Derek offered but then he mostly hovered like a laser-eyed creeper and it was just better for my mental health if he left.” Was that a hint of pink to his cheeks? That would have been almost adorable if it wasn’t mostly overly sugary. “So that left Isaac. But he’s been a big help.” Perking up at the compliment, Isaac beamed at Stiles, and _dammit_ why was this Pack made of overgrown puppies? Honestly.

Giving them a nod, Peter retreated outside before they made him help too. Perhaps he didn’t fit into all the hallmarks of traditional masculinity, but that didn’t mean he wanted to put on an apron and slave over a hot stove. That wasn’t to say he was bad at it, really, but Peter could spend his time doing just about anything else and be happier for it.

Outside, the remaining group had set up some kind of folding table and were gathered around it. Jackson, Scott and Boyd were regaling each other with highlights of some game or another than had been on TV recently. Hockey, by the sound of it. It made sense that Boyd liked it, considering how much time he’d spent in the town’s ice rink, but Peter was pretty sure Jackson and Scott just liked any sport that potentially ended in violence and broken bones. Across from them, the girls were discussing their Chemistry class, which was apparently run by a grossly unfair man. At the head of the table, Derek almost seemed like he was zoning out, eyes on the house rather than either conversation.

The Chemistry conversation seemed more interesting than the hockey one, so Peter settled down on Lydia’s otherside. The girl glanced at him, but other than a little tightening to her jaw she didn’t react, just continuing to talk. And that was one of the reasons Peter had been so _glad_ she was immune. Lydia was sharp and adaptable and really just a class above. In fact, it was a good thing she couldn’t be a werewolf, because otherwise Derek would be in serious trouble of losing Alpha status through sheer moxie. Lydia flipped her hair and went on about how Harris had marked her down on a question for answering it with concepts they hadn’t covered in class yet. “It’s like he just wants to fail us.” Lydia huffed, sounding for all the world like that was the worst thing possible. “Harris just wants everyone to be miserable.”

Nodding in agreement, Erica gave an aggravated snort. “Did you hear the rumors about his basement? Like, it supposed to be some sort of sadomasochism dungeon or something.”

Lydia crinkled her nose. “I believe it. Now let’s never mention that again, because the idea of Harris unclothed is giving me nausea.” Nodding in agreement, Erica stuck out her tongue and made gagging noises, which Lydia eyed her for. 

Then the Beta leaned to the side to look around Lydia at him. “Hey, you guys are about the same age, right? Did you know an Adrian Harris in school?” The other girl turned around as well, meeting his eyes head on without an outward sign of discomfort, and Peter had the odd urge to shake her hand for it and ask her how she’d managed to get passed what he’d done to her. Not that he needed advice. Peter wasn’t about to get over his own traumas anytime soon, mostly because he had no plans of letting himself.

Frowning, Peter thought about it. To be honest, he hadn’t tried to remember high school, or really anything other than the fire. It just didn’t seem to be worth it, and it made something cold and heavy feel like it was falling in his chest. But he wasn’t going to show that, obviously, so he made himself try. Memories started to trickle back, some with names and faces but just mostly basketball games and spending time with first his older sister, who had been Derek’s mother, and then his younger one. Both were now nothing more than scars on him and his nephew and plots of ground, and Peter’s stomach twisted. Then it dropped further as he placed the face with the name. Harris, as in the man who told Kate Argent about how burn down his house? Oh, he’d heard of him.

A quick glance at Lydia showed just a little bit of gleeful malice behind her eyes, though he thought there might have been a bit of awkwardness as well. She knew and she wasn’t saying anything, unlike Erica who had probably simply never put together Harris getting IDed by the police and the murders. And while Lydia hadn’t brought it up, she sure as well wasn’t about to interrupt him from thinking about it.

It wasn’t that bad of revenge, actually. Peter might have been impressed if he wasn’t swallowing bitter anger. Another name for his eventual list, then. The little weasel had mostly slipped his mind, which was deeply uncomfortable. He was losing sight of his goal. It was all the more reason to take the Alpha Pack’s offer a little more seriously.

But instead of saying that much, Peter just shrugged and swallowed his anger. “I never knew him in school, no. If we were there at the same time, then we weren’t in the same circles.”

Both girls nodded in understanding, and Lydia with a bit of satisfaction. It wasn’t like everyone in high school knew each other, even in a little town like Beacon Hills. Since he had nothing to contribute, he was summarily ignored as they went back to discussing the oh so many herculean tasks that high school Chemistry required of them.

When Peter glanced up, he found Derek watching him about, lips thin. The Alpha was probably thinking about Harris, as well as his mother and aunt, but there was something there besides the pain. Almost... worry. Like he was concerned that Peter wasn’t taking remembering well. Flinching internally, Peter stared down at the table, and eventual the hot pressure of Derek’s stare turned back to the side of the house.

Peter was saved from dealing with any of that by the back door opening, and Stiles whistling for them. “If you think we’re carrying the whole bird outside then you’re crazy,” he called, and then motioned for everyone to follow him inside.

It was natural to wait and let Derek go first, and then the rest of them followed, bringing their plates. Inside, Isaac cutting the last pieces of the chicken off the bone and onto a platter, while Stiles set down a bowl full of salad. When someone didn’t take some, Stiles would eye them like he was planning to take over their diet like he had his father. The boy was out of control, really. They needed to have an intervention or something. But there were worse things to do with his powers than to make sure headstrong teenagers ate their veggies, so what did Peter care?

They all trudged back outside and Stiles clapped Isaac on the back, offering him a warmer smile than he’d given the boy in probably weeks. Since he started to step in on his territory, anyway. “Thanks for helping.”

“No problem.” Isaac beamed at him, and Peter resisted the urge to go see if they had a collar with a tag they could get for him. “It was fun.”

Stiles settled down on an empty seat nearish the head of the table, though whether it was because he wanted to be close to Derek or because that was just the easier spot, Peter couldn’t guess. Either way, it put him next to Jackson, who snorted and tugged on the bright red apron. “Nice, Stilinski.”

For a second his cheeks went pink, but then Stiles just stuck his nose in the air. “You’re just jealous I pull it off better than you could.”

Snorting, Jackson smirked. “As if. Not that I’m looking to move in on servant chic. That one can be yours.”

“Don’t be more of an ass than you have to, please.” Stiles arched a brow at him. “If you keep insulting the apron, you won’t be allowed to have any more of my cooking.”

Freezing with the fork halfway to his mouth, Jackson’s shoulders drooped and his eyes went wide. He glanced down at the speared chicken and then back at the human. “Why? Jeez, don’t be a girl about it.”

There was a burst of movement as Lydia and Erica both balled up their napkins and threw them at Jackson, not even pausing their own discussion to do so. He stuck out his tongue at the girls, and was ignored. Once his focus was back on Stiles, the boy gave Jackson a deadly serious look. “Because, the apron is the source of my cooking powers. Without it, there would be no dinner.”

Nose crinkling, Jackson tilted his head at Stiles. “You couldn’t have gotten your powers from a less ugly one, at least?”

A loud sigh caught both their attentions, and Lydia eyed Jackson peevishly. “Oh, leave him alone already. The joke is dead now. It’s annoying to listen to.”

Stiles beamed widely, clearly giddy that Lydia had defended _him_ over her boyfriend. Huffing, Jackson actually _pouted_ at her until her shoulders relaxed a little, and it was evident she wasn’t annoyed any longer. Puppies. Peter really was part of a Pack of puppies. Should he start picking up Kibbles and Bits at the grocery store now?

Rather than do something obnoxious like fawn over Lydia, Stiles just looked smug for a long moment and then turned to Derek instead, asking a teasing question about the non-leather jacket he was wearing (answer: Peter had made him get it because, as well as his nephew pulled the fabric off, _enough with the leather already_ ).

Dinner continued smoothly, and it really was delicious. He wasn’t exactly a master chef or something, but Stiles was evidently practiced in the ways of the kitchen. The chicken was moist and the potatoes were good, even if Peter did prefer the normal creamy kind. On the other hand, Isaac was clearly a convert, and he openly praised (read: gushed over) Stiles, who preened and further opened up to him. Flattery really did get you everywhere, it seemed.

It was Scott who set aside his plate first and focused on his best friend, and Peter could practically see his metaphorical tail wagging. “When’s dessert?”

Lips pulling up at the corner, Stiles shrugged in a way designed to look casual. “What makes you think I made dessert? I already went to the trouble of making the meal.”

For a moment Scott considered that, but it was clear he knew Stiles too well to be fooled. “Because a meal isn’t complete without the final touch?” Something about his tone suggested it was an in joke, and they shared bright grins.

“I hid them in the cabinet over the sink.” As soon as the words were out of Stiles’ mouth, Scott glanced quickly at Derek for permission to go (once again not really seeming aware of how he deferred to the man who was clearly his Alpha), and then dashed into the house.

As Peter watched, Stiles’ expression went impish, and a second later everyone, including the humans, could hear Scott shout. “ _STILES_!”

The boy in question burst out laughing as Scott stamped back out, face clearly unamused. He was holding an open plastic container, brows drawn together in mild temper. The Beta dropped the cookies onto the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dog treats? Really?”

Stiles just laughed harder as they all looked down at his cookies. They were, indeed, shaped like tiny baked bones, like many kinds of dog treats, as well as... “Are those Scooby Snacks?”

Peter had not meant to say that aloud, nor had he meant to sound so _delighted_ about it. But they were Scooby Snacks. He’d adored that cartoon as a child. For a long minute, everyone stared at him, and he managed to stare back with dignity instead of sliding under the table like he wanted too.

But the promise of cookies was greater than the indignity of eating dog treats or furthering Peter’s embarrassment, so soon enough everyone forgot about him long enough to dive in.

As he chomped down on one of the Scooby Snacks (like he was going to let a little thing like humiliation stop him from enjoying them), Peter wondered when the last time he’d felt safe enough to slip like that had been. Actually, he knew exactly when. Peter just wasn’t sure what that meant.

The last time he’d been this comfortable, Peter had family. And now... Well, now he had Pack.

Not that it would stop him. Revenge was still the most important thing. Peter was mostly sure of that. Mostly.

***

Because the universe just couldn’t let things stay happy for long, things predictably took a horrible turn.

Specifically, when Lydia burst through the door to the Hale house, half-carrying and half-dragging a limping, bleeding Stiles behind her.

For a long moment there was nothing but stunned silence, before everyone started to move at once. Derek intercepted the humans, sparing Lydia only a quick glance before shoving his arms behind Stiles’ back and heaving him up. The kid gave a hiss of pain, but didn’t look like he wanted to protest being carried. Isaac dove for the bag of medical supplies as Peter shoved Erica toward the stairs to get the bandages and normal first aid kid, while Boyd went for the towels.

Derek set down Stiles on the kitchen table, and Peter had only a second to wince at how unsanitary that was before he caught a better look at the kid. His face was red in a way that implied he’d been slapped with decent strength, and his sliced open shirt (part of Peter that was detached and watching from the back of his head noted that at least it hadn’t been one of the new ones) was stained a dark red.

The Peter’s quiet surprise, rage bubbled up in him. Those Alphas had _dared_ hurt one of their own. _Stiles_ even, who should seem harmless to them, who was human and couldn’t defend himself. Worse, who was sly and bright and filled up the empty spaces in the house.

Oh, hell. This emotional response was ridiculous. Peter would fix it later. Right now his focus was completely on the mess in front of him.

Wait, why exactly did he look like that? The Alphas had been posturing and intimidating to him, but they’d never threatened him harm. Well, outright. Mostly. Kind of. Okay, they hadn’t outright attacked him, at least. “What happened?”

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but for a second all that came out was a squeak of pain. After a moment he closed his eyes and visibly mastered himself, taking deep, ragged breaths. “They, ah, wanted me to take the Bite and then take over from Derek. Didn’t - ah! - didn’t seem interested when I didn’t jump on board. Then I called the twins t-tweedle dee and tweedle dumb and started to call the blond one Lucius and-” He cut himself off, breath escaping in one fast hiss, and then he had to pause to get another few lungfuls of hair, each one looking painful. “T-they said they had other ways than a Bite. So. Yeah. This happened. And then they left.”

There was silence as they all tried to take that in. Then Stiles gave a pained twitch of his shoulders, which made the stains on his shirt look like they were getting darker. With another quick glance at Stiles, who stared right back with his jaw set, Derek focused on the shirt and carefully ripped it apart at the seams. It fell away, revealing the nasty, jagged line of claw marks down the kid’s paler-than-normal chest. Next to him, Boyd gave a low hiss of air, and Peter caught Isaac reaching out like he wanted to help. But any relief they gave Stiles now would just go to waste until they could help him get really better.

Snagging the wet towel with a sharp motion, Lydia shoved her way in next to Derek, who didn’t even look at her, and started to dab at the blood dripping down Stiles’ chest. He gave a weak noise of pain and squirmed, but Lydia’s free hand shot out to hold his side and held him still, nails digging in slightly. “No one can help you if we can’t see the cut from the blood.” She informed him, voice clipped. Stiles let out a shaky breath and nodded, limiting his reactions to breathy yelps of pain.

As the actual shape of the claw marks became clear, Stiles turned to Derek, his paler cast making his eyes look sunken and huge. “It has to be a Bite, right? I can’t... not from a scratch.”

Derek frowned deeply, and Stiles’ gaze wavered for a moment in nerves. “Not always. Sometimes. If the scratch is deep.”

They all turned to stare at Stiles’ chest. From Peter’s perspective, they looked plenty deep. But he was also somewhat biased.

Stiles gave a tiny shake of his head, and then stilled, visibly collecting himself. “Okay. Dealing with that when it comes to that.”

“We will.” Derek agreed, voice low, and Stiles started just a little, like he hadn’t expected the help. But the Alpha’s gaze didn’t waver, so the boy just gave a tiny nod. 

Glancing over at where Peter’s laptop was charging on the counter, he kid swallowed hard. “Why would they... I mean, a Bite would be better. If they wanted that. Wouldn’t it? It’s guranteed.”

Pausing awkwardly, Peter swallowed. “The Bite heals everything more quickly. Deep scratches don’t. It’s supposed to be a quite painful to be turned.”

The moment ruined, Derek barked out, “Where’s Scott?” Which was a pretty good question, actually. Why was Lydia here and not the boy’s best friend?

Stiles gave an awkward little shrug, and then winced when that pulled. “I, ah... I think he went to talk to Allison. She’s been kinda alone and he was... he turns off his phone when he’s doing that. I tried, but- ah, ow. Ow.” He took a minute to take a few deep breaths, staring down at Lydia, who was ignoring his pain as she continued to clean him off. “It’s not a big deal. Lydia got me fast. And here seemed better than the hospital, so...”

A low noise of displeasure escaped Derek, and Peter was sure that if he’d been capable of the noise, he’d have been growling outright. And, frankly, he agreed with the Alpha. This should never have happened, for a variety of reasons. Peter would feel bad for Scott next training session, except that he could see the pain in Stiles’ eyes, and suddenly the last remaining scraps of empathy he had left ran away. In fact, he kind of wanted to watch. 

“Why didn’t you have the pepper spray?”

Starting a little at the growl, Stiles wilted for a moment before glaring at Derek. His nephew really could have picked a better tone, so as to not sound like he was blaming the kid who had been filleted open. “I was just picking up Dad’s blood pressure medicine from the stupid drug store.” He paused to catch his breath, wincing every time he moved his chest. “It’s _two minutes_ from my house. So I d-didn’t bother.”

Derek made another of those angry noises, but Lydia turned and glared at him. “Can the interrogation wait until _after_ he’s not bleeding out?”

That was a good point, and Derek froze as Isaac dug into the bag again, pulling out a case of hopefully cleaned medical needles, a spool of surgical thread, and his best approximation of a profession smile. He took a step forward, opening the case and pulling out one of the needles, and Lydia stood up and whirled around, waving the blood stained towel at him. “No. Not in a million years. Step away before I make you step away.” Isaac did, just as Peter would have. When she wasn’t scared into compliance, Lydia was terrifying. Thankfully she still seemed to be found of the silent treatment with him, even if she was recovering far more quickly than she had any right to, because he didn’t want to be on the end of that.

“There’s no one else,” Boyd pointed out quietly, eyes studying Stiles face as it slowly drained of what little color it had, while Lydia went back to wiping with the already quite red towel, something about her posture frazzled and frantic. Was it just Peter, or was the kid starting to sway to the side? Oh, hell. There had to be at least one person they knew with the medical knowledge and practice enough to-

Oh. Well then.

Pulling out his cell, Peter managed a tiny smirk around the clenching in his stomach. Technically he was breaking one of the rules he’d agreed to, but it was Scott’s own fault for not being here. Selecting the right contact, he held up the phone to his ear. “Hello, Melissa? It’s Peter. Hale. Yes, that Peter. Oh, please don’t- Look, we need your help. It’s Stiles...”

***

And that was how Melissa McCall ended up stitching Stiles closed on the Hale’s kitchen table. Which Peter kind of wanted replaced after this, because wow, that was more Stilinski blood than he ever wanted on something he ate off of. He had a funny feeling that Derek had his own plans for the table, few of them good for it’s structural integrity. 

As it was, Melissa had not taken Peter at his word that Stiles needed her help, which was a rather unwelcome reminder at untrustworthy he was to anyone who knew about him. In the end, he had to put on Lydia and then Stiles. Then she’d told work that there was an emergency and came here, thankfully before the kid passed out or something. After taking a moment to wonder why they had animal sized needles instead of human sized needles, she’d gotten to work quickly and efficiently. Currently, Stiles had as much Tylenol in him as Melissa would let him, and he was still letting out soft noises of pain with every pass. But it was nearly over, and the nurse tied it off with a smooth, practiced movement before wrapping bandages around his chest and standing back up.

From where his head was pillowed in Lydia’s lap (he’d snuggled in, but Stiles hadn’t done anything that really suggested he still viewed Lydia as his unattainable crush. More strangely than that, Peter found himself not _caring_ if he did or not, because so long as Stiles was feeling good enough to flirt then he’d take it, Lydia or no), Stiles offered Melissa a thin, shaky smile. Actually, all of him was kind of shaky. “Sorry I can’t say this is the first time. Or it’ll be the last.”

Offering him a surprisingly calm smile back, Melissa patted his leg warmly. “At least you didn’t fall out Scott’s window this time.”

Stiles started to chuckle, but the sound got cut off quickly, replaced by a soft, groaning noise. Isaac started to move forward, eyes bright with the intention to use his favorite part of being a werewolf, but Derek shoved his way closer before he could. Rather than put his hand on Stiles’ chest or neck, he cupped the human’s cheek, thumb running the line of his cheekbones. The kid had enough time to blink at him in surprise and something like consideration before the black plain leached from Stiles to Derek. His eyes fell shut and he went suddenly limp, the only movement left in his body where he was leaning just a little into Derek’s touch.

After a second like that, Derek scooped Stiles up again, careful to keep from smacking his head into Lydia, and then heaved him off into the living room and onto the couch. He settled the boy into his lap so that Stiles’ head was pillowed on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. For his part, Stiles certainly didn’t seem to object to the position, judging by the way he nuzzled a little into Derek’s neck.

Maybe Peter’s plan was working better than he’d thought.

The rest of the kids crowded onto the couch, both emotional bonds and Pack instincts demanding that they stick close. Peter knew the later had to be true, because he was choosing to believe that was the reason he wanted nothing more than to join them.

But now Melissa was watching him with sharp eyes, and Peter was mostly positive that he wasn’t getting away from this. 

“So,” She started, voice too bright to be anything but cutting. “Werewolves.”

Peter nodded as casually as he could. “Werewolves.”

There was another beat of silence, before Melissa gave an almost bitter chuckle. “I guess that figures. It would be more likely that a werewolf was trying to use me against my son than me getting a date.”

Wincing just a little, his focus snapped to her properly, rather than half on the living room. “Don’t be ridiculous. It would have been much simpler to simply kidnap you and threaten you. I chose that strategy because you’re a charming woman.”

Pinning him with one of the most biting looks Peter had ever received, Melissa blinked. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“...I suppose not.” It was difficult for Peter to remember than other people didn’t think like him. That once upon a time even he hadn’t thought like this. That sort of compliment would have worked on him, but he could understand how other people might not find it comforting. Just barely managing not to squirm under her gaze, he looked away. “For what it’s worth, I do think that. And I have refined tastes.” When one factored out the cheesy television and romantic comedies that had both been and become part of his pop culture diet, at least.

Melissa just snorted, the noise identical to her son. “It’s not worth much.”

Well then.

Focusing on the table rather than her, Peter swallowed at the blood still staining it. “Thank you. Since none of us have said it yet.” Her eyes went sharp again, and he held up a hand to stop her. “For helping him, I mean. I know it was for his sake, but... Thank you.” Someone should try to be polite here, at least.

Lips thinning, Melissa stared at him. “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to let him suffer.” The implication that someone like _Peter_ would have left Stiles in the cold was clear, and he accepted it. There was truth there, after all. Or had been. “Not that I think you care.”

Yes, well, Peter hadn’t thought so either, and here he was. Shrugging again, the motion looser, he just glanced back at the living room. “He’s important to the Pack.”

Something must have shown to her, because Melissa watched him for a moment before nodding. Pulling out a pad of paper, she scribbled something out and then shoved it into Peter’s hands. It was a prescription note, with a signature that wasn’t Melissa’s own. Oh, clever. “He can’t stay here forever. Have his father pick this up later.”

Since they’d apparently all been listening in from the couch, Stiles suddenly started and peered over the top. “What? No! Don’t give it to Dad.”

Melissa rolled her eyes at him. “Your father can spare the 10 minutes, Stiles.”

Shaking his head, Stiles frowned. “Not that. Then I’ll have to _explain_.”

“He _still_ doesn’t know?” Melissa asked, voice raising in something like parental temper, and Stiles sunk down until he was half hiding behind Derek’s shoulder. “Stiles!”

Even without his mouth visible, Peter could tell Stiles was pouting. “He can’t know. Because if he knows he’ll try to _do_ something about it, and then he’ll get himself hurt.” The ‘or worse’ was politely left off, but the way Stiles’ eyes darkened slightly said it well enough.

Sighing, Melissa rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Sweetie. You think he hasn’t figured out _something?_.” Stiles’ brow raised, and she huffed. “Not about the werewolves. That you’re up to something dangerous. Do you know how many times we’ve talked about you and Scott showing up at crime scenes? Regularly?” From the way his eyes widened, Stiles had no clue. “Many. Tons. We just didn’t know what to do about it. That you haven’t told him yet explains a lot about our last conversation, actually.” She paused, like she was remembering the specifics of the conversation, before snapping back to the boy. “But that’s not gunna last, Stiles. Something is going to break and he’ll find out. Unless you _want_ him to learn about all... this the way I did?” Her gaze implied that such a route was not the wisest choice.

Stiles got that mullish look again, and he stared at the window behind Melissa rather than her. “But-”

“If you don’t tell him I will.”

Mouth falling open, Stiles gaped at her. “That’s not fair! You can’t do that!” 

Crossing her arms stubbornly - oh, yes, Peter could see _exactly_ where Scott got both the determination and the sense of fair play - Melissa just stared him back down. “Neither is lying to him. Or all the stress you’ve put him through. It’s not helping the blood pressure you’re always on him about.”

Oh, that was a killer guilt. Stiles deflated all at once, hiding in Derek’s neck again. His nephew brought up one hand and hesitated for just a moment for resting it limply on top of Stiles’ head, like he wasn’t sure how this comforting thing was supposed to work. But the human must have had some kind of reaction, because a flash of something like a smile crossed over his lips for a second. “Fine,” he mumbled, voice muffled by shirt and broad shoulder. “Gimme till tonight at least. I have to go home and prepare and-”

Eyes narrowing again, Melissa shook her head, and then realized he couldn’t see the gesture. “Oh, no. You’re not going _anywhere_ right now, except to a real bed.”

“Okay, so just have him come here then,” Lydia spoke up from where she was perched regally on the armrest. “Text him or something.”

Boyd stared back at her. “And tell him what?”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “He doesn’t have to tell him anything, really. Just to come. I don’t think the Sheriff would blow him off.” There wasn’t any doubt in her voice, but she still glanced over at Derek and Stiles, and neither objected. “And that way one of us can warm him up to seeing... that.” Flicking her fingers at Stiles’ chest, Lydia scrunched up her nose. “I can barely look at it, and he’s not my kid.”

“You love me anyway,” Stiles replied, voice surprisingly easy and playful, even if Derek tensed just a little. “You wuv us all.”

Lydia tossed her hair and looked like she was about to say something about being above loving such peasants, but Erica gave a shark-like grin and snagged the girl’s (no doubt designer) shirt, pulling her down until she was settled between the blonde and Isaac. “Of course she loves us. She’s Pack. You’re not allowed to not love us.”

Nodding in agreement, Isaac drew himself up in that would-be-badass way, but this time it was more playful than anything. “We’ll enforce that rule if we have to. It’s a requirement.”

For just a fleeting moment, Lydia looked shocked. Was this the first time she’d been referred to that way? Why did this entire Pack suck at talking to each other? Then she got control of herself, but Peter could still detect a little glow of happiness to her. “I don’t remember signing up for this.”

“You were drafted,” Boyd easily.

The other two nodded in agreement and squirmed in close, squishing Lydia between them until she gave into their antics and started to try and swat them away. All three were obviously careful not to jar Stiles, who was watching with amusement, parietal crisis momentarily forgotten.

Rolling her eyes at all of them, Melissa sighed. “And I should get back to work before I get fired. Tell Scott to be home by 11 tonight when you see him, okay?” She got a general chorus of agreement, which seemed acceptable. Casting one last sharp look at Peter, Melissa started for the door. “Oh, and Stiles? Tell him about your boyfriend too.” The boys in question both jumped a bit and glanced at her with wide eyes, but she was out the door before they could comment, smirking all the way.

She really was great. Pity she hated him now.

Blushing - with what blood, Peter didn’t know - Stiles glanced up at Derek like he expected to be shoved off his lap now. Silence hung for a moment, surprisingly heavy.

The Alpha stared back down, expression bland, but there was something about the way his eyes crinkled just a little at the corner. Then he spoke. “Mates. Not boyfriends. The term is mates.”

At first Stiles looked an odd mixture of relieved and happy, but then his face scrunched up, not sure how to take the idea of ‘mates’.” But then the Betas started to snicker and ruined the joke. Stiles huffed and stuck his tongue out at Derek, which of course prompted his nephew to lean in closer and closer, until his desire to kiss the human was very, very clear. Peter was pretty sure his nephew was too private a person for their first kiss to be out in the open while Stiles’ chest was still hamburger meat, but that didn’t stop the wolf whistles or for Stiles to go a blotchy, unattractive red.

When Derek pulled back, he was wearing a small but satisfied smile, and he glanced over at Peter for just a moment. And in that second he looked so much like nothing more than a grown-up version of the boy he’d been that Peter’s chest did the now familiar hot clench. And for a second, he thought that maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought before.

So of course that was the moment Scott barged in, panting heavily and eyes bright gold. “We have a problem,” he managed, and then opened the door farther, apparently to let more people through.

Then the Argents walked in the rebuilt Hale house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who forgot it was Friday!
> 
> Sorry about the cliffhanger. I'd advise getting used to those.


	5. The Ugly Truth

When Peter’s eyes first snapped onto the remaining two Argents, his first thought was to turn and thank Scott. How thoughtful, for him to bring them both here so he could exact his revenge. While he was debating how best to string them up by their ankles so that he could gut them and watch them bleed out, Scott opened his mouth and ruined the lovely mental image. “We need to help them!” It took Peter a long moment to stop thinking about bloodshed and let that sink in. In the meantime, Scott’s eyes snapped to Stiles. “What happened to you?”

Stiles gave a little jerk of a shrug and then winced. “Alphas. What happened to them?”

Looking like he was trying not to show how awkward he was feeling, Chris Argent stopped gazing around the house (probably surprised it wasn’t showing his sister’s work anymore) and set his shoulders. “Our house was raided. All the weapons and supplies we had are gone.”

For a moment Peter wanted to inform them that it was their problem, not the Packs, and then maybe go for their throats, but soon enough the realization of who had to have taken their things sunk in. “Bullshit. What the hell would the Alphas want with guns?”

“Not just guns. There was wolfsbane and special ammo and technology for catching werewolves,” Allison replied, lips tight but not quite as awkward as her father. Then again, she was a little more distant from her aunt’s actions. She hadn’t even lived here when the arson had happened. Not that the knowledge would stop Peter. The whole family was a menace.

Though, even Peter could admit they didn’t look very menacing now.

Hand visibly twitching toward where Peter assumed he normally holstered his gun, Chris frowned. “That leaves us nearly helpless, and them even more of a threat. We’re not here to ask for your help - Allison and I just thought you should be informed.”

“No way!” Scott interrupted, whirling around to face him. “You helped us last month. If they go after you, we should help.”

A low grumble of warning made Scott freeze, and slowly turn around to face Derek’s scowl. His shoulders slumped as he realized he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions like that for the Pack. Peter expected Scott to go back to his stance on not being under Derek’s command, but instead he just stared up at him, quietly begging him to say yes.

Had he thought it a possibility that Derek would even seriously consider helping them, Peter would have stepped in. Instead he crossed his arms and waited, prepared to enjoy the look of disappointment and helplessness on the Argent’s faces.

But rather than that, Derek gazed between both of the Hunters and then nodded, the movement only slightly jerky. “You did help before, and you haven’t tried anything since. We have a common enemy, so it makes sense.”

Peter’s mouth fell open in pure shock and fury, but no one seemed to notice. Instead, they focused on Lydia made a soft noise of thought, eyes narrowed. “But why haven’t they gone after you, then? Since you’re helpless. And where were you when this happened?”

Jaw set, Chris arched a brow at her. “We were home. But if I didn’t know a thing or two about escaping from werewolves, I’d be dead already. They probably could have followed us if they wanted to, but I think we can assume that whatever they want, we’re not the target.”

“We are,” Stiles murmured softly, something like horror in his voice. He’d gone pale, and Peter wondered if he’d finally gotten a self-preservation instinct. His stomach twisted at the thought, and he hoped not. Oddly enough, the kid’s irreverence was one of the reasons Peter found him tolerable. “It must have been right before they found me.” Eyes wide, Stiles swallowed hard. “They had guns that whole time.”

Lips twisting, Boyd frowned at him. “They clawed you open and you’re freaked out because they had guns somewhere?”

Stiles shrugged, not looking like he understood it any better, but Peter was pretty sure he did. The Sheriff’s kid would naturally have an ingrained fear of firearms, if only because he was much more aware of the damage they could do, especially to his only remaining family.

Eyes wide, Scott’s mouth fell open. “Clawed?” He scrambled forward toward his friend, poking at the bandages with new interest, and after a second Allison moved forward to, hovering over her ex-boyfriend’s shoulder with a look of worry.

“Uh, yeah. They got me kinda good. No big deal. They left the moneymaker intact, right?” Stiles offered a shaky smile, gesturing toward his face, but the way the action pulled at his chest made him wince and drop his arm.

Face pale, Allison’s eyes darted between the bandages and Stiles’ eyes. “Stiles? How deep were they?”

Wincing, Stiles stared down at his feet instead of meeting her eyes. “Kinda. Very. Ish.”

Biting down on her bottom lip, Allison whirled around to look at her father. Chris’ eyes went narrow and his shoulders were tense and set. Oh, no. That man was a hunter to the bone. He’d have no problem killing Stiles if he turned. Before he was aware of what he was doing, Peter took one long stride over until he was directly behind the kid, ready to defend him if need be. No Argent was going to take away another member of Peter’s Pack. No way in _hell_.

But instead of going for a weapon, Chris just stared at Stiles for a long minute, taking in the bandages. “How long ago?”

“A couple of hours.” Lydia replied. “We got Scott’s mom to stitch him up.”

Brows jumping up, Scott tilted his head. “What? Why did no one call me?”

Erica snorted. “Tried that. Check your cell phone, genius.”

His expression went a little petulant, but Scott did pull out his cell phone and frown down at it. “Oh. Right.”

Ignoring them, Chris turned to stare at Derek. “Do you have any wolfsbane around?”

Giving a nod, Derek tilted his head at Isaac, who nearly vaulted off the couch and snagged up the bag of various supernatural substances. With a quick look at his Alpha, Isaac handed it over easily enough, not looking frightened of the hunter at all. Then again, he probably only really saw him during the night Gerard had been killed. Peter would have to inform him and the other ones Derek had turned of exactly what the Argents were capable of. Assuming they didn’t prove it themselves today.

Settling down the bag, Chris started to paw through it, pulling out a couple of jars and then replacing them. “I don’t know if this will work. I’ve never seen it myself, and that’s a sizeable cut. But stories have gone around, and so long as it’s not too deep...” Pulling out a jar of wolfsbane, he swirled it for a minute, like he was checking the quality. “This should work. I need a cup of water.”

Once again, Isaac jumped up to go fetch what the hunter needed, and Peter resisted the urge to scowl at the Beta’s back. But, no. He could do calm and collected. Peter Hale was charming and sly and charismatic. There would be no flying off the handle here. At least, not until he had a reason to be. Like, say, poisoning Stiles. That seemed like a very real possibility. And the second the kid started to look so much as uncomfortable, Peter was going for the throat.

When Isaac came back with the water, Chris opened the jar and ignored how all the werewolves in the room flinched, keeping an oddly clinical air. He poured a precise looking amount of wolfsbane into the water, and Peter wondered how much to took to be fatal. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t know many wolves who had experimented with the stuff enough to know. While he’d gotten Lydia to spike the punch with it, it was a mild, drug-like kind to cause a healthy amount of confusion, rather than... hell, Peter didn’t even know what was in that one. It wasn’t labeled and it all looked the same ground down.

Once it was all swirled in, leaving the water a murky, dirty looking light brown, Chris Argent offered it with a blank expression, still managing to look professional. Stiles stared down at the disgusting looking water, and then back up at the hunter. “Really?” His tone was deeply disdainful, and Peter wanted to applaud.

“Really. Either take the chance on this or don’t. It shouldn’t hurt you.”

Stiles gave Chris is own bland look. “Reassuring.” But he did take the glass, and before Peter could break his composure and slap it out of his hands, the human downed it in one, long go.

When the boy finished the ‘water’, Chris took it down and settled it carefully on the coffee table. Then he met Stiles’ eyes. “Now don’t throw up.”

Stiles had just enough time to let his eyes go wide and snap out a ‘What?’ before he gave a violent looking gag and started to double over. Boyd’s hands snapped out to hold his shoulders down to prevent him from tearing his stitches, and they all watched in silence as the poor kid jerked and coughed, but managed to keep from vomiting like he clearly wanted to.

The bandages on his chest started to go dark, and for a second Peter thought that Boyd’s quick efforts hadn’t been enough. But instead of the dark red of blood, it was the black, inky liquid of werewolf venom. Stomach twisting, Peter swallowed hard. That could mean that it had gone very right and the venom was escaping, or that it was helping but it might not be enough, or that Stiles was dying right in front of them.

Soon enough, the boy stilled and lay there, panting heavily and looking even paler than he had before. Turning red shot eyes onto Derek, Stiles blinked at him. “You not keeping soda around is getting kind of unforgivable, dude. That shit tastes _nasty_.”

Derek let out a snort, though it sounded pathetic. “Soda is useless if the caffeine doesn’t work on werewolves. We’ve discussed this.”

Flapping a weak hand a him, Stiles coughed again, and then winced. “It’s not because it actually tastes good, you giant fun killer. Now could someone get me water already?” He offered Erica as wide a smile as he could manage when she grabbed the old cup and made for the kitchen, and then turned to Chris. “So, did it work?”

Staring down at the bandages, Chris frowned. “I don’t know. That’s not as much as I would have thought, given the size of the wounds and how long it had been. It was something of a long shot anyway.”

Peter snorted, unimpressed by the lack of specifics, and Chris’ expression tightened as their eyes met. The tension in the room went up a notch, but before anything could happen Allison spoke. “Dad? If there’s a cure...” Her eyes were hard and distant, and her shoulders shrugged up to nearly her chin. 

Oh, right, her mother. A poetic ending if there ever was one, in Peter’s ever so humble opinion. But he could see the naked pain in the eyes of both Argents, and that brought him up short. If they felt the death of their own family members so acutely, what on earth were they doing killing _his_ family?

“Not for a Bite, Sweetheart,” Chris answered, voice surprisingly gentle, and his eyes darted toward Derek, who went stiff. “Not one with intent.”

Jaw tightening like she was grinding her teeth, Allison pursed her lips and pointedly didn’t look at the Alpha. 

Derek, apparently at the end of his rope, bared his teeth and gripped at Stiles’ arm, which were one of the few places on him that were okay to squeeze. Shaking his head like a dog with fleas, the Alpha shrugged lightly enough to not jar the human in his lap. Actually, Peter was surprised none of them were really reacting to the boy’s position, but he was fairly certain the Argents were taking it as a ‘Werewolf thing’, and Scott wasn’t acting like it was an odd occurrence at all. Interesting. “I lost my temper, but that’s not the issue here-”

“What do you mean, not the issue?” Allison snapped, still staring at Stiles’ chest rather than Derek. “My mother _died_. You as good as _killed_ her. That’s a _huge_ issue.”

The tension jumped up about three notches, and everyone went still and quiet, except for Lydia, who he could see texting at lightening speed. She was probably getting Jackson here. Good. Peter would feel better if the whole Pack was here to defend and or back him up when he went for the Argent’s throats.

Making a sort noise, Scott shifted uncomfortably, and the sudden break of the silence was enough to get every eye on him. He looked oddly betrayed as he stared at his ex, and Allison blinked in obvious surprise. “But she deserved it!”

Oh, _Scott_.

Allison’s mouth fell open in something like horror, and Scott barreled on like he was building up steam. “Well, _yeah_ , she was trying to kill me! And that whole burning wolfsbane thing? It sucked. It sucked a lot. It was like the worst asthma attack ever and it _hurt_ , okay? Derek’s the reason I’m alive and I know she was your mom but that wasn’t... it wasn’t okay.”

Oh, damn. Wolfsbane smoke? Peter added that to his Argent crime list with a sort of gleeful rage. How could anyone argue that they didn’t have it coming? That they _all_ didn’t have it coming. Three dead Argents, and every single one of them had earned it more than once over.

To their very limited credit, both the living Argents looked shocked at this new behavior. Really? They thought Derek had just bitten her willy-nilly? For the fun of having the wrath of arguably the most vicious hunter family on his tail? No, clearly Victoria Argent had been a complete Saint and absolutely innocent in getting herself bit. There was no other explanation.

Face going pale, the Argent girl stared at Scott, eyes blazing. He shifted uncomfortably under her look with the clear remnants of being completely whipped, but stood his ground. “That’s not true,” she bit out, voice ragged. “My mother wouldn’t. We _agreed_.” The way Chris winced and looked away proved he disagreed, and Peter took a vicious satisfaction in that.

Looking distinctly apologetic, Scott stared at his shoes. “We didn’t exactly keep our side of the agreement. And she found out.”

While Allison continued to stare, Peter shot her the blandest look he could. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, and took pleasure in the way Chris Argent stiffened at the way he stole the endearment for his daughter. “Just look at the rest of your family. A grandfather who sold you out to become what you’re supposed to hunt, and an aunt who burned down a family full of innocents and left the man you blame an orphan.” Derek flinched just a little, but Peter couldn’t be bothered by that at the moment. If throwing him under a bus made that girl realize how _irredeemable_ her family was, then Peter couldn’t be damned. “Clearly you don’t have the best genetics. Which I think you already proved.”

The Argent girl took a step back, paler than ever and face going a splotchy red. But when Peter looked away from him, he found the whole room glaring at him, especially Scott, Stiles and Lydia. Derek's eyes had even gone red, and he tilted his head in a way that told Peter on no uncertain terms to _back down_.

He should have. But he couldn’t.

“But let’s say he did,” Peter continued, voice going paradoxically more casual as more and more of the rage he’d been biting down on bleed into him. “Let’s say my nephew here did maliciously Bite your poor, innocent mother who was, I don’t know, frolicking in fields of wolfsbane or whatever it is that Hunters do when they’re not destroying families. It doesn’t matter! Because that one death, deserved or undeserved, does not make up for the innocent lives your family - your _aunt_ \- took from us.” 

He was panting like he’d run a mile, and Peter should stop and keep his dignity. But his emotions and words were like poison in his chest, and if he got them out at her then they wouldn’t be in him anymore, and Peter was sick of feeling the chemical burns eating him from the inside out. “And it still doesn’t make _sense_! That _bitch_ knew so much. She knew everything and there’s _no way_ she should have known it! So there’s other people who were involved, and I want to know who. Now.”

Before the girl had looked bowled over, but now she looked outright frightened. Her hand had snapped to Scott’s wrist and was holding in what would have been a painful grip if the boy wasn’t a werewolf. From where he was still stationed in front of the couch, Chris was tense and his hand twitched like it wanted a gun. Almost everything about him screamed ‘protective’, except for something in his brows, which just looked confused.

He didn’t know. If he even knew what Peter was talking about, then he certainly didn’t know how Kate had done it.

The only one who flinched was Derek.

For a second that confused Peter, before he whirled to stare at his nephew full on, ignoring how uncomfortable Stiles looked at being so close to the source of tension. Suddenly, it hit Peter that it had been six years. Nearly seven now. Between his sister and him, surely Derek would have realized that something was wrong about that fire. And six years was plenty of time to track down some information about the subject. Derek could _know_. In fact, Peter was positive that Derek did know, and he was going to tell him or there was going to be _hell_ to pay. “What?” He snapped out, voice dangerously close to a growl.

Going so tense Peter was surprised he wasn’t actually vibrating, Derek stared back for a moment before actually averting his eyes. The fact that an Alpha was doing it made Peter’s stomach drop. What could be so bad? “It wasn’t them. Or anyone else. So drop it.”

“No, I’m not going to _drop it_ ,” Peter practically snarled back, and Derek’s shoulders tightened up even more. “How do you know that? What do you know?” The Alpha opened his mouth, eyes going red with was no doubt the sort of power that Peter couldn’t argue with, so he cut him off before he could. “Derek! _Tell me_!” 

Even in the life he’d had before, Peter had never been the sort of authority figure who tended to yell or order a lot. He’d been fond of tricking or guiting the cousins into doing what they were supposed to. So when he did yell, everyone had listened. And apparently that stayed with Derek, because the Alpha powers bled away and instead he scowled at the floor, looking almost guilty. “It was just Kate. And me.”

What?

_What?_

Peter was shaking. He was honestly shaking, hard enough that he was starting to fear for his balance, and so he grabbed the couch with one hand to stay up. His nails slid into the fabric like it wasn’t there, but he couldn’t find it himself to care. What did that _mean_? “Derek,” he murmured, and his voice was almost airy, in contrast with his barely restrained body language. “Please explain.”

From his place still settled in Derek’s lap, Stiles rested his hand on the Alpha’s chest and opened his mouth like he wanted to make Peter back off. But his nephew spoke before he could. “She was a substitute. I didn’t know who she was, but she was... We started to talk, and she was so interesting and she was interested in me, and then my family, and I... I didn’t _know_.”

It took Peter an achingly long moment to figure out what Derek was saying there, and then it hit him like a bullet to the chest. The information hadn’t been from additional hunters who had been watching them or any other source. They had been from the horse’s mouth. From _Derek_ , who had just _told_ her because she had a _pretty face_.

Stumbling back and away, Peter practically scrambled backward until the back of his legs hit the loveseat, and he fell back into it, staring blankly at where his nephew was. When he was finally able to focus, he could see Stiles murmuring softly to Derek and petting his shoulder, while the Alpha stared back like he couldn’t believe the human was talking to him, much less comforting him. To be honest, Peter didn’t understand either. Derek had essentially handed the key to their home over to a hunter. Because she was pretty and interested in him. The _stupid boy_.

It was so tempting to just jump him. To leap across the short space between them, Pack members or no, and to go for Derek’s throat. Then he’d be Alpha and he could go and join the other Pack, no matter what their real plan was, and not have to worry about this sort of stupidity any longer.

But then Derek turned his gaze back on him, posture defeated and vulnerable and eyes shockingly young, and murmured out, “Uncle Peter?”

And he couldn’t. Not right now. Later, maybe, but not when Derek was looking at him like that.

When had he gone so damn _soft_?

Scrubbing over his face with his hands and wincing when his claws scratched lightly at his skin, Peter ducked his head so he wasn’t looking at Derek anymore and tried to get control over himself and ignore the way the acid feeling in his chest was churning, boiling and splashing around his shriveled, blackened excuse for a heart. Because Derek had been partly responsible for taking their family away.

Like how Peter had been directly responsible for taking Laura away.

Somehow he’d never thought of it that way. Laura had been in his way and she’d left him. She had to die, so he killed her. It was Peter’s perspective from before, through the filter of pain and sharp, crawling insanity. And he’d never thought to look around that lense until now.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he swallowed convulsively against it.

“Don’t talk to me right now,” Peter managed, voice rough, and he heard Derek shift like he’d flinched, but he did go blessedly quiet. 

Unfortunately, not everyone followed his good example. Instead, Peter could hear Chris Argent clear his throat uncomfortably. “She... picked you out? Before the fire?” There wasn’t any noise, but Peter presumed Derek nodded. “But that was... you were 16.”

Something about the age tugged at Peter. Part of him, the part that was hurt and wanted to hurt in return, insisted that it was plenty old enough. That he should have _known_ better. That he was so stupid for falling for something so obvious, so fundamental. 

But Peter was pretty sure that he was thinking the same thing as Chris Argent was. That the woman had been in her mid-or-so twenties at the time. That she was already a trained hunter, probably encouraged personally by her creepy shit of a father, who Peter was thrilled had died such a terrible death.

That was statutory rape. If it had gone all the way, then by legal standards Derek had been raped. It hadn’t been some kind of romance, even. Just Kate using his nephew to do and get what she wanted, including the death of his family.

Peter didn’t know what to think. He _couldn’t_ think, not rationally.

“I...I’m sorry,” Chris murmured, and no one answered.

For a long moment there was just awkward silence, other than the soft noises of Stiles continuing to move despite his chest, the stubborn idiot. It sounded like he was still physically comforting Derek, which made Peter’s stomach twist hard enough that he was afraid he was going to be sick.

Finally, it was Erica who spoke up. “Um, I hate to say it, but I think there’s kind of bigger problems here. Alphas? On the move? With guns? That’s kind of the priority, right?”

He was still too raw to watch himself, so Peter couldn’t help but snort disbelievingly. After all, of the Pack, she and Boyd were still the most likely candidates to be traitors. “What’s the point of talking about it? If there’s a traitor here, then they’ll just tell the damn Alpha Pack. Might was well just throw yourselves at them without working together, since that’s what you all _do_.

There was a vaguely insulted silence after that, before Allison spoke up again, voice still a little weak but mostly recovered. Nice cover job there, girl. “What do you mean traitors?”

“The Alphas have been trying to get us to turn against Derek and join them. They’re tracking down everyone.” Scott replied softly. “They came to me first, and then-” Another snort from Peter stopped him. “What?”

Rolling his eyes, Peter just scowled at the floor. “Not you first.”

There was some distinctly guilty shifting on the couch, but Chris Argent spoke up again, voice almost too thoughtful, since he was clearly covering up his own discomfort. “They’re trying to get you to distrust each other and make it hard for you to work together against them.”

“It worked,” Peter replied simply, voice sharp.

Letting out a soft hiss of pain as he sat up properly, Stiles spoke up, voice almost indignant. “No, it didn’t.” His voice wavered just a little with something like desperation. “We’ve been better, right? Everyone’s been getting along. No one would have... I don’t think it was them. Or any of us.”

Lydia made a quietly indignant noise. “Who’s them?” She demanded.

Someone must have glanced over at Erica and Boyd, because Peter could actually hear the pure indignation even before the girl spoke up. “What? 

“You were the first to interact with the Alpha Pack,” Derek pointed out, voice oddly subdued, and part of Peter felt bad for that while another, louder part thought ‘good’. “And you never told us about it.”

The tension went up another notch as Erica made a noise that was caught somewhere between furious and a little contrite. “We told you. They roughed us up and let us go. Remember?” Boyd replied, voice subdued but powerful.

“But they offered you something,” It was Scott who spoke up next, tone sharp, and Peter was just a little impressed he’d managed to figure it out like that. The kid was quicker in these sort of tense moments than he was day to day, probably because he was less distracted by trivial things. “They always do. And you didn’t say.”

Hissing out between her teeth, Peter could see Erica’s glare in his mind’s eye. “No, we didn’t. Because it was dumb and we didn’t believe them, and we didn’t think they’d go and say that stuff to everyone, okay? So we don’t mention that they threw us an obviously bogus line and suddenly we’re traitors?”

Isaac let out a gust of breath that sounded almost reluctant, and Peter could hear the sound of Erica whirling around to no doubt glare at him too. “And then you didn’t want to admit it because it sounded like you were hiding stuff. Right?” He sounded more hopeful than sure.

“Right!” Erica replied, voice harsh. “How could you think that about us?”

For a beat there was silence, before Derek spoke, voice almost calm. Well, no, not calm. Defeated. “Because you tried to run once already.”

“And Peter tried to kill all of you,” Boyd pointed out, still in that calm, oddly persuasive tone. Twitching a little, Peter still refused to look up. “Scott says he isn’t Pack. Isaac almost ran with us. Jackson hates being last.” Lydia made a noise like a cat sprayed with water, but Boyd continued blithely on. “We all have reasons and motivation to betray you. It doesn’t mean we did.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t either,” Peter commented. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t. For all we know we’re all traitors.”

All the glares turned on him again, but Peter was really beyond caring. 

There was the sound of clearing throats, and the focus shifted back onto Chris. “Look, we can’t afford to argue this. The fact that the Alphas have stolen our supplies means they’re going to make their move, and soon. So you need to work through whatever issues you have now, and then we need to make a plan.”

Silence hung for a second as they all collectively agreed to that, with the exception of Peter who was still working on not giving a crap about any of it. Stiles let out a low sigh, and then shifted like he was turning. “Well, since it’s too late in the game to care if the Alpha’s know... Hey, Erica, Boyd. Are you traitors?”

“No,” Erica snapped, at the same time Boyd calmly proclaimed, “We aren’t.”

Their hearts stayed steady.

Well that was a load of wasted effort.

Before anyone could ask, Lydia flipped her hair. “Neither I or Jackson have any plans to work with the Alpha Pack. That I know of.” She passed as well. “Don’t give me those looks. I know Jackson’s suspect. And I can tell you that he actually likes the Pack thing, God knows why. So leave him alone when he gets here.”

Silence settled again. Idly, Peter wondered who the real source of information was. If not the Pack, that just left the French teacher, right? Which was creepy in it’s own way, because Peter didn’t know how she had gotten the information. Or were they forgetting someone...?

“Okay,” Isaac murmured, swallowing hard. “Now that all that’s out of the way... what now? How are we supposed to fight them?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it?

Tapping against something soft, likely her arm, Allison gave a hum of thought. “Dad and I have some weapons in the car, but not a lot that’ll do much good against werewolves. I do have my bow, but... Alphas are tough.” Peter had the distinct feeling she was staring at him, and Peter fought off the childish urge to flip her off. “We were working on tracking them, but we didn’t get a whole lot. They didn’t have many patterns.”

“Mostly they were watching you,” Chris agreed. “If we compared callenders, I think those dates would match up with when they spoke to each of you. Other than that, only a few general locations, and nothing solid.”

Snorting, Lydia made a noise of disdain. “So we have nothing.”

Once again, they all went silent as they considered the truth of that. They really did have next to nothing. No traitor, no really information to what the Alphas wanted. Great.

This time, the atmosphere wasn’t broken by a voice. Instead, it was the sound of a car pulling up in front of the Hale house. A new kind of tension ratcheted up, as they all, even the humans, went very still and listen. Everyone could hear the sound of a car door closing, though likely only the werewolves could hear every breath and footstep.

The person - just one, probably older and certainly human - walked up to the front door, and then knocked. After a second, they knocked again.

It was Isaac who finally stood and made for the door. After a moment of hesitation, he opened it and swung it open.

“...Mr. Lahey? What are you- Um, I’m looking for my son. Is he here?”

“Dad?” Stiles hissed out. “Oh, shit.”

Even Peter picked his head up for that, because just half an hour ago he would have been absolutely interested in watching Sheriff Stilinski interact with his son and seeing what he could learn from that. Now his enthusiasm was buried under a stomach full of bile and anger and guilt, but he could work through it enough to run interference here if he had to.

And it looked like he might have to, because the Sheriff’s eyes snapped right to Stiles’ bandaged, blackened chest with immediate and understandable worry, and then around at the probably baffling assembly of people. “Scott’s Mom texted me and- Stiles? The _hell_ is all this?”

Glancing down to where his father was looking, Stiles winced. “I can explain this.”

“Really?” Stilinski drawled, though the sound was hollow - he was doing his best to hide his alarm under the familiar tone, clearly, but there was only so much that could work. “I’d love to hear it.”

For a second Stiles’ mouth worked, and Peter wished he was a little less tied up emotionally so he could actually enjoy the boy speechless. “Um. Okay. I can... This is gunna sound weird, okay? But I swear I’m not crazy. Really. No more than normal. Okay? So you have to agree not to freak out and do something rash.”

Blinking at his son slowly, the Sheriff let out a low gust of breath. “Kid, you really need to work on your openings.” When Stiles actually whined out a protest of ‘Daaad!’, he tensed and then nodded, like it hurt him to do so. “Alright. Just... Are you sure you shouldn’t be at the hospital or something?” If anything, the Sheriff looked like he just wanted Stiles to move out of Derek’s lap, and it was a little startling to remember that to him, the Alpha must seem so much older than his son. To Peter they were just so _young_ , and he couldn’t remember when that perspective had crept up on him.

“Mom patched him up, so he should be okay,” Scott offered, voice surprisingly casual given the circumstances, and Peter wondered if it was because his reveal was over and done with already, or if he was just very used to half-joking and all tense conversations between the Stilinskis. 

Nodding in agreement, Stiles drummed his fingers against his leg for a second. “So, you know what you say all the time? First time’s an incident, yadda yadda.” He paused for his father to agree, but the Sheriff just arched a brow at him in impatience. “Okay, so. Let’s talk like that. There were all kinds of weird animal attacks not to long ago, oddly canine.” A few eyes darted to Peter at that, and he ignored them in favor of watching the Sheriff. He was getting very good at ignoring things, especially if they were emotional. “That’s the incident. Two, the attack on the precinct and those people, once again vaguely animal like and ending with firepower, and a lot of it.” This time the glances went to the Argents and Lydia, who similarly refused to react, though Allison’s eyes did drop. “Coincidence, maybe. Three, an odd tendency for these things to happen on nights of the full moon, like with the bus driver.” Oh, right, the insurance fraud man. Peter barely remembered that one. “Four, an equally odd tendency for me and Scott and a few others to disappear, either for long periods of time or just for some nights.” 

Stiles spread his hands at that, like there was an obvious conclusion to those points, and then winced just slightly. Maybe it was obvious to him. After all, hadn’t the boy figured out werewolf before Scott’s first full moon? The Sheriff just stared at him, however. “Stiles. Just this once, could you actually give me a straightforward answer?” He sounded so tired, and Stiles deflated all at once. That was pretty good, actually. If they weren’t already completely _fucked_ Peter might have been interested in learning that.

With a sigh, Stiles just turned to look at Scott. “Would you mind?”

“Why’s it always me?” The boy signed, and then nodded. In the space of a heartbeat, he shifted and turned now eerie yellow eyes onto the Sheriff.

With impressive reflexes, the man - okay, what was his _name_ , anyway? - pulled out his gun and trained it on the Beta, who did a very good impression of a kicked puppy. But he never fired, and a cry of ‘Dad!’ From one side of the room and ’Sheriff!’ from Chris Argent made him freeze, the gun wavering slightly. Slowly, it dropped until it was aimed toward the floor instead, and Peter found himself relaxing. “ _Scott_?”

Werewolf forms were very good for a variety of things, but friendly smiles were not among them. “Hi, Sheriff.” Scott gave a little wave, and the man gave a low sigh, relaxing his arms by his side.

Nodding slowly, Sheriff Stilinski re-holstered his gun, and then looked around. “Okay. What the hell?” He paused, clearly making some connections with his son’s babble. “ _Werewolves_ , really?” Another pause, and then he gave a choked noise of frustration. “Why does that make _sense_?” Taking a step back, he scrubbed over his face with his hand, looking around the room. “Anyone else, then?” Everyone minus the Argents and Stiles raised their hands, and the Sheriff went even paler, to the point Peter really hoped someone caught him if he collapsed. Didn’t he have bad blood pressure or something? “Alright. Werewolves. Okay. Where’s the alcohol in this place?”

Actually, whiskey sounded _really good_ right about now, so Peter stood up, still in his little bubble of tenuous calm, and made his way silently up the stairs where he kept his stash. He didn’t care if the kids got drunk out of their minds, but he wasn’t sacrificing his stuff to them. It was higher quality whiskey, and therefore not suited to their uncultured palates. 

It took Peter a little longer than necessary to get the stuff, since he made a quick stop in the bathroom to purge his still violently twisting stomach, and then took the time to clear his mind of the fire, Kate Argent and especially Laura. By the time he made it back downstairs, Sheriff Stilinski was settled in the loveseat that Peter had vacated. “Wait, slow down. If it wasn’t any of you, then who was the one doing the killing then?”

Oh, goody, that part of the past few months. Refusing to let his footsteps stutter, Peter swallowed hard and set the whiskey on the coffee table slightly too hard. Before he could interject some flip response about how it had been him, Stiles continued on. “Rogue Alpha werewolf. He was completely out of his gourd crazy and was after hunters. He died that night, though, so nothing to worry about.” 

Straightening, Peter’s head whipped around to stare at Stiles, whose gaze was focused on his father rather than him. But his heartbeat had stayed completely _steady_ , even in the face of something that should have been a plenty bold enough lie for Peter to hear it. A glance at the rest of the Pack showed that none of them looked like they disagreed, or even thought the statement was odd. 

Peter slipped into the kitchen and took his time getting the glasses. This time his stalling was for a different reason.

When he returned with three glasses (he highly doubted there was going to be underage drinking in front of the town Sheriff, after all), Peter set them down and poured a glass for Stiles’ father and handed it over. It seemed like they’d managed to catch him up through at least Jackson’s lizard issues, and the boy in question had arrived in that time, judging by how utterly uncomfortable he looked next to his girlfriend. Taking the glass, Stilinski nodded at him once, and then paused. “Who are you, then?”

“Peter Hale,” he answered, giving a smile with too much teeth. The expression wasn’t exactly forthcoming at the moment, after all. “Derek’s uncle.”

Nodding, the Sheriff downed half the glass in one go. “Right. You were in the hospital. Burned. And I was under the impression you’d been killed.”

Giving the same not-quite smile, this time even tenser, Peter shrugged. “Werewolves are hard to get rid of.”

That seemed to be the end of that, and Stilinski went back to grilling the kids about the situation. Noticing Chris eye the whiskey, Peter swallowed the childish impulse to splash the drink in his face. Instead he poured him a glass as well and handed it over only slightly reluctantly, before pouring his own glass. If Derek wanted some he could get it himself, because Peter was now done being the butler, and he wasn’t up to interacting with his nephew yet. Or any time soon. Taking a sip, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the slight burn, for once wishing he was human so he could really feel it.

“So what now?” Stilinski finally asked, as he drained the rest of his drink. He looked like he wanted another one, but Peter curled protectively around the bottle without really meaning to, and he backed off. “And what the hell happened to your chest? ‘Cause that’s not blood.”

Frowning, Stiles swallowed hard. “Um, well. You see... Okay, so, the weird Pack of Alphas we told you about have been going to each of us to try and get us to betray each other. And they might have tracked me down and then decided I wasn’t useful if I was human so they might have clawed me deep enough that I could possibly be turned into one to but you don’t have to worry because Mr. Argent totally did this thing with wolfsbane that should make me not be so everything’s fine now except that I’m just kinda sore. And I should probably clean this bandages because ew werewolf juices. Um, so yeah. All good.”

Glancing at the whiskey again, Stilinski nodded once and set down his glass. Then he clapped down his palms on his knees and used that to stand up slowly, almost laboriously. “Okay. We’re leaving.”

The kids all stared at him in shock, and Chris sighed out a oddly disappointed sounded ‘Sheriff...’ The man himself just stared at his son, jaw set. “What are you talking about, Dad? I can’t just _leave_.”

“Yes, you can. Right now. C’mon, get up.”

Stiles gaped at him, and then leaned back when Derek’s arms tightened around him. The Sheriff’s gaze briefly swerved to glare at the older boy. “I- No! I’m not going anywhere!”

Drawing himself up, Stilinski jerked his head toward the door. “Yes, you are. They _tore you open_ , and I’m not going to let them finish the job. So get your ass up and get in the car.”

Mirroring the man’s expression right back, Stiles’ brows jumped up in challenge. “I can’t get up. Ms. McCall said so. Guess I’m staying here, then.”

“Stiles!” The man let out, the name pure frustration. “No. Just _no_. I shouldn’t even have to argue this with you! I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Taking a step forward, Chris caught his eye, hands up placatingly. “Now, Sheriff, there’s no need to be rash about this-”

“Really now,” Stilinski shot back, voice desert dry. “ _Werewolves_ are after my son, and I’m being _rash_? I think I’m being perfectly reasonable. So if you’ll excuse me I’m going to take Stiles and-”

This time it was Peter’s turn to interrupt, and he did so with a salute of his empty glass. “Get him killed. Without another werewolf around there’ll be no way to keep him safe, and they’ll kill him before us. Or maybe after. Either way, if he leaves now he’ll probably die.” Shrugging loosely, Peter poured himself another liberally sized drink. 

Chaos exploded after his words, with all the kids crying out at once that the Sheriff just _couldn’t_ take Stiles, while the boy in question let out soft ‘owowow’s of pain and he reached up to cling stubbornly at Derek’s neck. For his part, Peter’s nephew looked like he’d snap Stilinski’s hand off if he tried to remove the boy, and yeah that was enough looking at Derek moving on now.

Faced with a room full of panicked teenagers, the Sheriff just stared at them and slowly deflated. Finally he swallowed hard and gave a short jerk of a shrug. “What am I supposed to do, then?”

From where she was still squished against her boyfriend, Lydia flipped her hair. “The Argents need guns. Didn’t Mr. Argent sell some to you? That was his original alibi for being in town, right?” Allison winced a little at the world ‘alibi’, while the Sheriff gave a little nod. “Well, it stands to reason to get them those guns, if you can. In the mean times, there are a few people we still don’t know about that need to be looked into, and you have the best tools for that.”

Looking like he didn’t know why he was listening to the girl, Stilinski gave a slow nod. “You mean the Alphas?”

“No. We have no idea what they’re names are or where they’re from, so that won’t help us. But the Veterinarian and the French teacher at school - Deaton and Morrell - are both gone and more than likely involved, so any information on them would be good,” Lydia responded. “Certainly more helpful than panicking.”

The girl got a dry look for her tone, but the Sheriff gave a reluctant, jerky nod of agreement. “Okay. I can do that. The guns’ll be... will they help?” Chris nodded at him, but Allison just shrugged. She was an archer (and to hear Scott talk, the greatest one to ever grace the earth), so Peter imagined it didn’t matter as much to her. Sighing again, the Sheriff swallowed. “I can get them, so long as I get them back. But...”

Tapping his bicep thoughtfully, Boyd tilted his head. “We should have some time. They did just steal from the Argents. They probably want to lay low and regroup for a little while before they do anything.”

That... didn’t make sense. The best plan would be for the Alpha Pack to attack before the Argents could call in help or resupply, however they did that. But the Sheriff looked slightly more comfortable about leaving. Stepping up to his son, and still looking a little distressed about where exactly he was, he ruffled the boy’s buzzed hair. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then just shook his head. “I’ll see you soon, kiddo, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad. Tomorrow, definitely.” Stiles’ mouth curved just a little, in the hint of a smile.

Hesitating for just a moment longer, the Sheriff swallowed hard and then met Derek’s eyes. The Alpha stared right back. “If he... if something happens, I won’t bother with arresting you.”

What was with Stilinski’s and spitting in the face of Alphas? But Derek just inclined his head, and the Sheriff gave him an assessing look before walking out reluctantly.

For a long moment there was a respecting silence, before Erica turned to Boyd and punched lightly at his arm. “You know what you said was really stupid, right?”

Boyd just shrugged. “Calmed him down, didn’t it?”

“Why was he ever _here_?” Jackson asked, voice clipped. Revisiting the whole murder lizard thing was making him twitchy, and Peter could really sympathize right about now.

Sighing, Stiles scrubbed over his face. “Ms. McCall called him.” Ignoring Scott’s confusion at why that would be the case, the boy swallowed hard. “This makes things more complicated.”

Snorting, Peter drained the rest of the glass and put it away. It was difficult for him to get drunk, but it was a little too tempting to try at the moment. “Not necessarily. We could all die, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about it. Nice and simple.” That earned him another round of group glares, and he basked in it just a little. Let them be as uncomfortable as he was feeling.

Breaking off his sour look, Isaac snapped his gaze onto the Argents. “Have you guys had any luck tracking them down?”

Allison shook her head, lips pursed. “No. Nothing other than what seems like them following you guys.” Her father nodded in agreement. “But I guess there’s a few places we could look around.”

“Not tonight,” Derek interjected, jerking his head toward the windows. The last hints of red were slowly fading away into dark blues and purples. Apparently time flies when death is looming. “The Alphas will have too much of an advantage. We need to have a plan, and hopefully a way to get them confused.”

Ideas started to get thrown around, mostly insane ones involving leading the Alphas to so and so location where they could be ambushed, and talking about teamwork and coordination and it was just too much. “Alright, you all have fun. I’m going to bed.”

“What?” Stiles asked, voice lit with indignation. “Why?”

Scoffing, Peter just shrugged, staring at the wall rather than the boy. “I don’t see the point in bothering. At this point, I really don’t think I’m capable of working well with others, so no sense in me being here. I’d do better to just get some rest.”

From the corner of his eyes, Peter could see Derek flinch just a little, and he ignored the way his chest _ached_ at the sight. Instead he focused on Scott, who stepped forward with big eyes, all hurt idealism. “I think we can do it. Just stick around for a little while longer, maybe.”

Whirling on Scott, Peter pinned the Beta with his best condescending glare. “You can. Maybe. I doubt it, but maybe. After all, isn’t this _not your Pack_?” The boy’s shoulders hunched, but Peter wasn’t done. Not when he still felt choked like this. So _screw_ his plans and being subtle, because he was just done with this stupid convoluted plan and these stupid feelings. “But you really think I can play good buddies with _them_?” His gesture was mainly toward the Argents, but it included Derek at the end. This time he couldn’t see or hear how his nephew reacted, but he did pick up a couple hissed intakes of breath. “So good night.”

Breathing heavily, Peter made for the stairs, only because he had nowhere to go outside of this house. The only reason he didn’t storm his way up them was because he wanted to think he still had some dignity after that, but couldn’t stop himself from slamming the door to his room shut.

Collapsing on his bed, Peter clapped his hands over his ears and concentrated on the sound of his breathing rather than the noises from downstairs. It didn’t work.

***

Hours later, the group finally broke up. Rather than go to their respective homes, which would be just as much of a death sentence as they’d told the Sheriff, all of them stayed over in one room or another. Considering that the Hale house had once comfortably roomed twelve people, it wasn’t hard to find everyone a comfortable place to spend what was possibly their last hours, especially if someone was comfortable taking the living room furniture, which the Argents apparently were.

Stomach churning, Peter found himself focusing on the fact that the people he had been carefully planning the murders of were just downstairs and defenseless. Unless they’d raided the Pack’s meager wolfsbane and mountain ash supplies, they had nothing at all to keep them safe from his claws or fangs, and Peter could kill them and be out the door before anyone would be the wiser.

His hands literally ached with the desire to do so, and the longer he resisted the more his mind flashed back to the pain of slowly healing from burns and of realizing his family was gone. That they were either dead or thousands of miles away, and that he was alone.

As he stared at the ceiling of his room, Peter wondered if he was going insane again. Then he wondered if it mattered.

But he didn’t have to die. Peter was in no way convinced that they could come out victorious against four Alphas, much less ones who could work together and had who knows what kinds of resources. Yes, they had strength in numbers, and yes they had been training, but it seemed useless when mentally compared against the inherent strength the other Pack would wield.

That was the truth, and Peter didn’t think there was anything they could do to change that. But he could change his own fortunes. He could join the Alphas. Easily. All it would take would be to kill his nephew.

And why not? Why shouldn’t Peter kill Derek? Nearly 7 years ago, the boy had done his level best to kill Peter, even if he wasn’t the one setting the fire. It would be justice for destroying their family, and then for leaving with his sister.

With Laura, who Peter had-

No, nonono. That wasn’t important right now. Peter could focus on that later. Right now he was planning this. It wasn’t even really a plan. It was too simple and too _obvious_ to really be considered such. From where he was sprawled out, Peter could hear the deep breaths of a sleeping household. He was the only one awake. And that meant all he had to do was walk across the hall and kill Derek. Just slice his throat open while he slept. It would even be a peaceful death. Which was fine. Derek clearly hadn’t _meant_ to burn their family apart from the inside out. He just _had_. 

So Peter would be the merciful one. Bleeding out from a throat wound would be fast and nearly painless.

He would know, right? Because of Derek again. It was as poetic as it was just.

After that, Peter would just slip downstairs and take out the Argents, which would be even easier with his new powers, and then go and track down the Alphas. Hell, they’d probably come to him. Easy peasy. And with Derek gone and Peter part of them, the other Pack might leave the rest of them alone. They had said that they’d be fine. Free, even. And who was Peter to say that was bullshit? Maybe he was just projecting. For all he knew that was exactly what they wanted, and all the Betas - or, Omegas, he supposed - could go happily about their business. Or build a Beta Pack, like Derek had tried to do against him.

Peter was really having trouble coming up with downsides. Then again, he wasn’t trying very hard.

The plan was simple, and Peter loved simple plans.

Slowly, Peter sat up, and swallowed when it felt like his stomach was trying to crawl it’s way up his chest. It was just nerves. And excitement. He was about to get what he wanted, so he should be thrilled, right? Over the moon. Exactly.

Somehow Peter expected to be caught when the door to his room swung silently open. He expected Lydia or Stiles or _someone_ to be there, wagging their fingers and telling him ‘nice try!’

But there wasn’t. The house was a silent as it ever got, and it’s occupants stayed peacefully asleep.

Keeping his breathing low and trying to keep his heartbeat down and calm - the former worked, the latter didn’t - Peter padded across the hall and stopped in front of Derek’s room. Then he opened the door, just as silently as his own.

Inside the pitch black room, Peter’s werewolf eyes could see Derek sleeping, tangled in his sheets. But he wasn’t alone. Instead, Stiles was flopped against him, snoring quietly and just as deep in slumber.

That made Peter pause, but not for long. They were both clothed, albeit in what looked like shirts and boxers, so nothing that interesting had gone on. And Stiles here could actually be good. The human would still have a delayed reaction to the Alpha’s death, and his panic would just distract the rest of the Pack from the Argents long enough for Peter to finish what he was doing.

So, there. It was fine. The plan was still nice and simple and perfect. He’d have his revenge against _everyone_ , and he could go back to the powerful life of an Alpha. It was perfect.

All Peter had to do was do it.

Ignoring the way his hands shook, and the way his chest was so tight he was almost afraid his ribcage was collapsing, Peter stepped up next to the bed, and stared down at his nephew’s peacefully sleeping face. His eyes scanned over him , marking all the changes between 16 and 23. He wished there were more.

Taking a strangled breath, Peter narrowed his eyes and lifted his hand high, claws sliding out as easy as breathing - which wasn’t at all easy at the moment - and paused, swallowing hard.

Then he sliced down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you this cliffhanger was worse.
> 
> Sorry, this ended up being a lot of talking, huh? It had to come out, I'm afraid. Just two more chapters after this


	6. Something's Gotta Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains canon-typical or greater violence

Peter’s hand froze a hair’s breadth away from Derek’s exposed throat. His fingers were shaking violently, and any cut he made would be messy and painful. More importantly, he just... he _couldn’t_. There was just no way he could make himself slice Derek’s throat open. Not now, staring down at his prone form. Not for a long time now, really.

A hitched breath made him freeze, and Peter froze, afraid he’d woken up his nephew or Stiles. But both remained still and quiet, and he realized the noise had come from himself. His breathing was shaky, because Peter was shivering like he was in the middle of a blizzard.

With one final glance at both of them, Peter fled.

Once the door was closed behind him again, he took a minute to just breathe, getting himself under control. But it was hard, because for all his planning he had never expected for this to be the stopping point. In his mind, any failure was the result of environmental issues, or problems created by other people. Not his own weakness. Not one of his plans or ideas had factored in the idea that in the end he wouldn’t be able to pull it off.

Worse, Peter couldn’t pinpoint when the change had happened. When had things changed so that the knowledge that _Derek_ was the one who let Kate Argent get them wasn’t enough to motivate him? When had this twisted Pack of children and puppies become more important than his revenge - the thing he _came back from the dead_ for?

He didn’t know. And, worst of all, a part of him didn’t care. On Peter’s list of priorities, the needs and comfort of the Pack ranked above his own ambitions.

And boy was that a kick in the teeth.

Scrubbing over his face with his hands, Peter paused as his fingers ran through moisture. Really? _Really_? It wasn’t actually crying, per se, but the fact that he was breaking down enough to actually tear up was just too much. It was a level of pathetic he wasn’t willing to fall too. And that was the motivation it took for Peter to scowl at the floor and straighten up, using the heel of his hand to wipe away the little bit of liquid there was.

The smart thing to do would be to go and take his own advise by getting some sleep, but Peter was just too keyed up. His mind was running in circles and his emotions were churning, and staring at the dark sounded like a terrible idea. Because if the Pack ranked higher than revenge, and he’d previously been willing to kill for, then he’d probably do _anything_ for them. Including face the Alphas, as ill prepared as they were.

Oh, _hell_.

So instead he walked past his room and crept down the stairs. At the base he paused, leaning against the railing. Chris Argent was spread out over the main couch, long legs falling over the pillows and the arm rest. Even in sleep and from a distance, Peter could see the creases from frown lines, like the man was just as tense in unconsciousness as in waking. Allision was curled in the love seat, teenage flexibility making her look perfectly comfortable in her somewhat odd position. Her hair was pulled back haphazardly in a purple hair band, the dark strands pulling free to rest on her face.

The sight of them still made hatred and pain bubble up in Peter. He would still not mind at all to see them dead, preferably in a violent way. But he’d rather his Pack be alive than they be killed. And they would all be safer with the hunters as backup.

What a pain.

But if he could let go of his fury at Derek, who was indirectly responsible for the tragedy, then he could do it for these two, who were actually mostly innocent. Peter didn’t want to - he _really_ didn’t want to - because it left a terrible taste in his mouth and a twist in his stomach, but he could do it.

Walking past them, he made his way into the kitchen and settled into the chair next to the counter where he charged the laptop. Booting it up, and taking a moment to be quietly thankful he kept the computer constantly on mute, unless he specifically needed sound, Peter pulled up all the information on his laptop and started to search for Alpha/Alpha interactions. If there was anything in here besides the bare basics he’d found so far, now was the time to find it.

But then he paused for a moment, and dug deeper into the files of his laptop, where folder after folder hid what he hadn’t been able to look at.

Family photos. None of which he’d dared to pull up. Until now.

Peter found himself staring at one of Laura, smiling and brazen and young, for a long time.

***

The next thing Peter was aware of were voices speaking around him, pitched low and soft. It was the usual morning nonsense of who wanted coffee and quiet conversation, but it was gentler than normal, even factoring in the tense atmosphere.

It took Peter a minute to realize that he wasn’t in bed, but in one of the not at all comfortable to sleep on chairs by the counter. He’d nodded off while searching, then. And the quiet tones were for his benefit, to avoid waking him for as long as possible.

It was almost sweet, in a way that made Peter’s chest clench in the now stupidly familiar way. For a moment he wondered if it would have been easier if they’d just jarred him awake, but it wouldn’t have changed anything important, except that the Pack that had become so important was also _rude as hell_ , would have been an even more bitter to swallow.

Sitting up was uncomfortable, and Peter’s neck gave a shockingly loud _crack_ in the relative quiet of the kitchen. For a second the conversation around him stumbled, before picking up like they hadn’t noticed the movement. Rubbing at where his muscles were twinging just as much as they were healing, he blinked blearily around the room. Most everyone was already up and downstairs, and Peter cringed just a little at that. He’d slept in longer than the _teenagers_. Half of the day might be gone already.

For the most part, everyone seemed to be willing to let him wake up a little, probably motivated by the awkwardness of last night’s departure, but Erica caught his eye and gave her best smirk. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Feel better after your tantrum?”

It was far too early for that, and Peter couldn’t help snagging a spare napkin and throwing it at her head. Erica was shocked enough by the uncharacteristically childish action that it made contact, bouncing off her forehead. She stared at him for a second, eyes wide and mouth open just a little, and the quick expression was enough to get Isaac snickering into his orange juice.

That was enough to break the tension, and everyone seemed willing enough to ignore yesterday’s outburst for now, if only because they had more important things to worry about. Of course, the exception was Stiles, who settled down next to him with his own coffee, slurping it obnoxiously loudly and gazing up at him. “No, really. You okay?”

Sighing, Peter considered the boy and decided that he wasn’t going to be left alone until he gave some kind of answer, so he just nodded. “As well as I can be, all things considered.”

Stiles regarded him for a moment before nodding back, taking another gulp of his drink. “Okay. ‘Cause I’ll let that bullshit you pulled yesterday go this once, but you can’t do it again. It was a pain to get everyone’s spirits back up after that.”

Snorting, Peter rolled his eyes. “I hardly think I was responsible for any lack of morale.”

Arching an eyebrow at him, Stiles finally lowered the cup. “Are you serious? Of course you were. You’re like... You’re the adult. You can be responsible when you feel like it and you always seem to know what’s going on. So, yeah, we look up to you a little bit. Not like ‘I wanna be Peter when I grow up’, but how most of the time we can trust you to keep a cool head and keep us calm. So when you lost it there was some panic, especially since, well...” The boy’s eyes glanced to Derek, who was speaking in low tones with Jackson. “You’re the grown up, so you have to act like it. Got it?”

Staring back, Peter blinked slowly. Somehow it had never crossed his mind that the children would view him as... some sort of authority figure or support. He’d always thought of himself on the outside, especially in regards to how he assumed the rest of the Pack saw him. The fact that he wasn’t like that was not only a severe miscalculation on his part, but... it was kind of nice. In a disturbing way. “Got it,” he finally replied, and Stiles flashed him a quick smile. But he hoped the human didn’t expect him to apologize, because frankly Peter wasn’t really sorry. All in all, he figured he had a right to some initial anger at the situation, and while lashing out hadn’t been the most mature way of handling it, he was pretty sure he was justified in having a lapse.

That must not have been Stiles’ goal, however, because he just went back to his drink, giving off an overly satisfied air. And that just wasn’t on, so Peter snagged the boy’s coffee out of his hand and took a sip, just to watch him protest. The second the liquid hit his tongue he shoved it back into Stiles’ hands, resisting the reflex to spew it all out. “How much sugar did you put _in_ that?”

“Lots,” Stiles replied, far too cheerfully. Grinning at Peter, he took a long, noisy sip, meeting his eyes challengingly the whole time. Making a face back, Peter turned away, and accidentally caught his nephew’s eyes, who had been watching their interaction with something like reluctant amusement. Derek deflated a little, looking far too young, and Peter sighed and scrubbed over his face. He couldn’t deny that he still wanted to _hit_ the Alpha for being so completely stupid, but his anger was slowly fading into much more manageable frustration and exasperation. So he just inclined his head at the boy, who didn’t exactly perk up but did at least stop looking like the sky was falling.

Things weren’t okay yet. And like had been said to him before, they might never be okay. But they’d just keep working through it.

The idea of eating made Peter’s stomach protest, and from the amount of coffee cups and lack of anything else in the sink, he figured most of the occupants of the house felt the same (though Boyd had poured himself a bowl of cereal and was meticulously eating his way through it, arching a brow at anyone who looked at him oddly). For Peter it wasn’t as tense as it had been last night, but it was certainly trying. Even now that he was awake, no one was talking above a whisper, and no one was as relaxed as they were pretending to be.

It was almost to the point where Peter wished they’d all just go out and get this fight or whatever it was going to be over with. And then he remembered that they were probably going to die, and the wish curled up and withered in his chest.

But there was no way to stall it for long, and Derek finally turned to Chris, eyes shuttered. “You said you had a few places we could look for the Alphas?”

Jaw tightening, Chris nodded. “Yes, I did.” The words were dragged out of him almost reluctantly, and by the way the man’s shoulder shifted Peter was fairly certain he’d just squeezed his daughter’s hand. He started to list off a few places that they’d noticed increased activity - the downtown area, near the school, suspiciously close to where the old random abandoned subway of misery was - all places that the Pack had connections to. It did sound like they had just been there to track them, which made Peter uneasy. Surely they would have noticed being directly followed, right? There was only so much the Alphas could do while limited to their purely psychological attack plan.

“So, say we do find them,” Jackson spoke up, tapping his fingers in a fast, aggressive tempo against the side of his cup. “What then? We ask them nicely to return the guns, or what?”

Next to him, Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. The only reason they would have bothered with the Argents right now would be if they were about to make their move. As in very soon. So the best chance we have is to ambush them before they can ambush us.”

Isaac frowned, eyes following Jackson’s pattern nervously. “But we’re still in the dark. We don’t even know how they know all that stuff.”

“Morrell is still our best guess, right?” Erica said, and then shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? This isn’t about psyching each other out or being scary. They want to kill Derek for their stupid slavery reasons.”

Tapping his own fingers against the table, Peter snorted. “So they said. I highly doubt that’s their real reason.”

Giving an almost violent shrug, Erica shoved her hair over her shoulder with an impatient flick. “Whatever! I’m saying it doesn’t matter. They’re going to try and kill us, and we’re gunna try and kill them first. So none of that crap makes a difference. It did until now, but not anymore, so let’s just go out there and kill ‘em.”

Silence fell again, this time just a little lighter. Poetry it hadn’t been, but Erica’s words were a little comforting in their meaning. Either they won or they lost. One way or the other, the games were over.

While he still doubted their ability to pull this off, Peter freely admitted that being the only spider on the web again was a tantalizing prospect.

“There’s still the slight problem that we have no idea where they are,” Derek reminded, voice still just as tense as it had been the whole time, and from the corner of his eye Peter saw Stiles lean over and snag their hands together. Good. If the human could make Derek lighten up enough that he didn’t pull something before the fight even started, that would be for the best.

Shrugging, Stiles waved toward the doors. “I guess we just take the cars and go look at the places Mr. Argent mentioned.” He paused, and then gave a cheeky grin. “Let’s split up, gang!”

Oh, was Peter going to regret that Scooby Doo slip in the future. Assuming there was one.

The group made for the door, quietly discussing who would go in what car. Between the Camaro, Stiles’ Jeep, Jackson’s ridiculous Porsche and the Argent’s van, there should be plenty of room...

A sideways glance caught Derek’s oddly twisted expression, and Peter blinked at him in confusion. For a second he hesitated, tempted to just walk by and not speak to him, but right now really wasn’t the time to be awkwardly avoiding each other. “Something wrong?”

Gaze flickering to Peter, Derek shrugged. “Do you smell something strange? It’s... spicy, almost.”

Stomach dropping, Peter actually felt the blood drain from his face. Derek’s own eyes went wide with realization, and he turned toward the rest of the group. “Don’t open the door!”

But it was already too late, because Jackson had already yanked the front door open. When he spotted the blond figure stalking toward the house by the treeline, he gave an undignified squeak and slammed it back shut, just as the Alpha Pack leader shifted and broke into a run straight at them.

Moving by some kind of instinct, Scott, Boyd and Erica all pressed themselves against the door where they could, bracing it just before it suddenly rattled _hard_ , the entire thing bowing just a little and jarring all three of them violently. “Shit,” Isaac breathed, snapping his hands over Erica and Scott’s shoulders to help them. “What do we do?”

The door rattled a few more times, and there was sick sound that could only be claws scraping against the thick wood, before it suddenly went quiet. There weren’t any footsteps moving away, but somehow the Leader’s _presence_ didn’t seem quite so on top of them, and Peter shuddered just a little at the incongruity. It was like one of the horror movies the kids had insisted on watching, and Peter was even less fond of this than he was of those.

Turning to Stiles, Derek huffed. “Go get the mountain ash and protect yourself.”

Mouth falling open, the human gave a noise of pure indignation. “What? No! I want to help.”

Oh, for God’s sake... Rolling his eyes violent, Peter pressed his palm roughly against Stiles’ chest. The boy gave a noise that was just shy of a scream and wrapped his arms protectively against his chest, eyes hurt. “ _That’s_ why. You can’t even run, and we can’t afford you getting hurt. Without Deaton you’re the _only one_ who can do those things, so if you get yourself killed we’re screwed. So go!”

Stiles looked like he still wanted to protest, but Lydia and Jackson grabbed an arm each and pushed him back. Sending them all a conflicted look, he finally gave a jerky nod and turned to grab the bag of supplies still sitting in the living room. Once he started off, Jackson tilted his head after the boy, and Lydia huffed in agreement before she followed him.

Watching them go, Derek swallowed hard. He looked... well, clueless was probably the best word. Not that Peter could blame in him this case. “I would prefer it if we didn’t let them trash the house in an effort to get to us. It was just rebuilt,” he finally offered, in an effort to at least get him going.

Giving a sharp nod, Derek huffed. “Did anyone else see the others?” Everyone shook their heads, and the Alpha didn’t look really surprised. If he hadn’t, the chances any of the others would were slim. “Okay, hopefully they’re separated. So we all just go for him and take him out before the others can help.”

“That’s your plan?” Scott yelped. “Everyone tackle this guy?”

“Do you have a better one?” Derek challenged, voice clipped, but Peter thought he detected a hint of honest question. Much as he wished he had a better idea, he really didn’t. None of them had really prepared for this, which seemed like an amazingly stupid move in hindsight.

There was silence for a moment, and then by unspoken agreement Boyd yanked the door open and the Pack rushed out, the Argents only a beat behind.

Leader was gone. In fact, Peter didn’t see _anyone_. Derek must have scented something, however, because he bolted for the treeline. He was in full Alpha mode, and thus managed to get a bit of a head start before the rest even turned to follow.

The sound of sudden footsteps caught Peter’s attention, and he twisted his head toward the noise just in time to be slammed into from the side, sending him and his attacker skidding into the trees. The breath was knocked out of him, and Peter gasped, scrambling to try and get his hands and feet under him. Now he could see that it was one of the twin Alphas who had gotten him, and Peter managed to get his balance enough to kick out before he could dive into him again.

The Alpha was stronger and faster, but Peter had a hell of a lot more experience, and clawed over the other werewolf’s face, distracting him for long enough to get up into a crouch. But the scrap had distracted him, and it wasn’t until there was a snarl behind him that Peter realized the other twin had managed to get behind him and was jumping at his back.

Before Twin 2 made contact with Peter’s unprotected neck, he was slammed out of the air by a blur of leather and blond hair. Snarling viciously, Erica landed on top of him, scratching for his neck and torso. Grunting in pain, Twin 2 twisted with a suddenness that was uncomfortable to watch and kicked up, hitting her right in the solar plexus with startling strength. Erica was shoved up and back, but Boyd was there, hands on her shoulders to steady and help support her before she could make contact with the ground. While he helped her, Isaac darted forward to take her place, eyes blazing and grinning with a viciousness that did make him look badass for once.

Distracted as he was with the other Betas, Peter lost track of Twin 1 until he heard him scramble to his feet. Moving quickly, he dodged to the right, which was enough to avoid claws to the throat, but left him with painful gouges along his arm. Hissing, Peter scrambled up and back, hand coming up automatically to put pressure on the wound. The Alpha gave a low noise like a growl, going low in preparation to pounce. But when he reached the lowest point where his back was almost parallel to the ground, there was new, loud snarl and then Scott was on top of him, digging his own claws into Twin 1’s shoulders and holding on tight. Howling in pain, he bucked and twisted until Scott finally lost his grip, skidding on the early dropping leaves that littered the forest floor.

The howl caught Twin 2’s attention, and Peter heard him yell out “Aiden!” in clear worry, before it was drowned out by the noises of a scuffle.

Shaking his head violently and rolling his shoulders in pain, Twin 1 - Aiden, apparently - glared at his brother. “Shut up, Ethan!”

Well, that was certainly a nice opening. While he was still distracted, Peter jumped at him, not even bothering with the claws and just smashing his elbow into his sternum. After all, there was only so much good bloody wounds would do right now, considering that the scratches he’d gotten in before were already showing signs of healing. Aiden stumbled back, but caught himself and dodged suddenly to the side. Jackson, who had been trying to sneak around from behind to get at his back, instead crashed down next to Peter, and only just barely managed to turn the momentum into a roll.

Grabbing the boy’s arm, Peter yanked him up before Aiden could take advantage of his bad position, but apparently the Alpha didn’t care about him. Instead, he threw himself at Boyd, who had managed to circle around toward Ethan’s side. They both went down, Boyd with a grunt of pain and Aiden with a scream of fury. There was a blur of motion between them, as they both scrambled to damage the other as much as possible.

Erica darted forward, intent on helping her boyfriend, but Ethan was faster. With a low, frankly terrifying noise, he dashed over to both of them and caught Boyd by the neck. The boy gave a gasp, and Peter caught a glimpse of his eyes, wide with terror, before the Alpha hurled him backward, throwing him into Erica. Only quick reflexes let Isaac dodge out of the way of the the two, and they both hit the ground with sick thumps.

Behind down, Ethan helped his twin up, face dark with protective fury. His brother stood up only slightly laboriously, grumbling angrily as he pushed his brother’s worried arms off. In eerie synchronization, they both pulled something out of their pockets and threw them down, and suddenly the world was made up of bright light and a painfully loud popping noise.

For one long moment, Peter’s breath caught, and all he could think about was being blinded by smoke and the blazing light of fire. But that was stupid, and he ignored the twisting in his stomach and shook his head hard enough to clear the thoughts away. Instead he waited until the spots had mostly faded from behind his eyelids and forced his eyes open.

The twins were gone, leaving that same unsettling presence-but-emptiness their leader had left. Narrowing his eyes again, Peter listened hard for any sounds of movement, but his ears were still ringing a little, and the early-morning noises of nature drowned out any footfalls he might have been able to pick out.

“What the hell?” Jackson grumbled, scrubbing at his own eyes with vicious irritation. “Why didn’t they just kill us?”

Good question. Very good question. “They want us alive,” Peter murmured. “Or they don’t want us to die _here_.” He paused, and then twisted back toward the house. The scuffle had brought them far enough into the forest that he couldn’t see it at all anymore, and he could only just barely catch the scent of gasoline from the cars. “Where are the others?”

Isaac shrugged, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his vision. “I don’t think Derek saw you get hit. He was pretty far ahead. And you were down so we had to help.” He paused, gazing at where a pair of tiny, blackened things remained on the ground. The leaves around them were singed, and there was a hint of gunpowder in the air. “What the hell were those?”

“Flash bombs,” Scott replied immediately, brow furrowed. “I think. I saw Allison and Mr. Argent working on them before. It’s like those pop rock fireworks, maybe? I dunno, but they’re supposed to take advantage of our hearing. That’s what she said, at least.” He rubbed ruefully at his ears and shrugged. “Why would they want us alive? They attacked up.”

Brushing off his shirt and scowling at the way one sleeve had ripped, Boyd frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe they need us somewhere else. Or they don’t want all of us dead.” When he noticed everyone listening, he shrugged. “They want something. This isn’t just random, I don’t think. So, it’s a trap.”

“So then what do we do?” Erica asked, brushing leaves out of her now tangled hair. “We’re not going to just fall for it and chase them, right?”

Frowning, Peter bit at his bottom lip. “Staying here is even more stupid, since we have no protection, and we can’t go back to the house.” If they were in the forest, then hopefully the Alphas were too. He didn’t want to lead them back to the humans that didn’t have any way of defending themselves. Part of him wished he was still cold hearted enough that he could use the both of them as nice, weak bait, but he just wasn’t, so that was out. “Our best bet is to try and find Derek. If nothing else, it’s better than mindlessly pursuing them.”

No one had anything better than that, and so they collected themselves as best they could. Boyd had a number of thin, jagged slices across his neck, and Peter’s arm was definitely not liking the way it had been torn at, but other than that most of the damage had been from the environment, and thus the Betas were healing nicely. Once again, it was probably because the Alphas _wanted_ them to be able to move around relatively well, whittling away at their vitality along the way to whatever the hell they wanted.

“Pick a direction and watch it,” Peter advised quietly, taking point. If nothing else, hopefully his experience would let him deal with an ambush better than any of the others. “If you aren’t vigilant, we’ll die. Keep that in mind.”

It was harsh, but it was true. Not to mention effective, because the other Betas were quick to find their direction and kept their eyes glued to it. Good. It only took certain death to get them working together well. Reassuring.

Tense and silent, they continued along the forest, angling away from the house and further into the trees. Peter couldn’t hear a peep from any of the Alphas of Derek, but that wasn’t too surprising - at this time of day the forest was fairly loud to his ears, and the constant noises of shifting and twigs snapping kept Peter overly alert, eyes darting around only to find a squirrel on a branch rather than an Alpha bearing down on them.

Finally, Peter caught a whiff of blood and paused. That was promising for the sake of tracking down Derek, and yet not at all because it was a fairly strong scent. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he debated sending the kiddies off on some kind of quick chase so he could go investigate and figure out if he should let them see it, but Isaac paused with his brow furrowed, and his plan curled up and died. “Anyone else smell that?”

Sighing, Peter nodded tersely. “Stay behind me.” Being teenagers, they automatically tensed at the order, but his high rank combined with some kind of ingrained respect for authority (he assumed, since he doubted it was for him, personally) made them settle.

Following the smell, Peter realized they were getting closer to the house and winced. That was not a good thought. Not at all. But it was too close to be coming from any farther than the tree line, and surely they wouldn’t have dragged out Stiles and Lydia just to kill them 50 feet farther...

As it turned out, it wasn’t either of them. Or Derek, for that matter. Not even the Argents. Instead, it was a fully grown woman, wearing business clothes and torn open at the stomach. She was hanging by a rope wrapped around her wrists, and swayed gently in the breeze. While the woman was quite obviously very dead - she wasn’t even bleeding anymore - the smell was still strong, and he heard several of the kids behind him choke.

Frowning, Peter turned to face them, tilting his head toward the corpse. “Okay, I don’t get it. Who’s this?”

“That’s our French teacher,” Jackson replied, voice strained as he struggled to keep his face blank. He and Scott were probably holding up best, if only because Peter assumed they had more experience dealing with dead bodies - Jackson for the obvious reason, and Scott for his tendency to jump around crime scenes with Stiles.

Ah. Well then. Jury was still out on if she was a traitor, but that wasn’t why she was here - this was pure psychological warfare. They wanted all of them off balance and easy to take down. Not if only they knew for what. Stepping forward, Peter walked in a circle around the woman, frowning when he saw the Alpha’s odd symbol etched into her back. No blood, so after her death. At least, that’s what daytime crime shows had taught him.

When he came back around, Peter arched a brow at the kids, who were still distinctly pale. “We can deal with this after. For now, do your best to put it out of your minds.”

Scowling a little, Erica swallowed hard. “Easy for you to say.” Peter tilted his head in agreement - it was fairly easy for him to say, actually - but that didn’t seem to make her feel any better.

“Why would they do that?” Scott asked, eyes narrowed and jaw set.

Blinking blandly at him, Peter shrugged. “To scare you. And because she probably had no use to them. Or, no more use. Either way, she’s no longer a danger.”

The Betas seemed equal parts bolstered and disturbed by his calmness, but at least no one called him out on it. They were all probably too aware of who he was. Which was fine with Peter, because he wasn’t about to explain himself to a bunch of teenagers. “Let’s just go,” Erica murmured, staring at the ground rather than their former French teacher, and there was a round of nods at that. But none of them moved, still off balance from the sight.

And of course that was when the Alphas made their next move.

Howling started up around them, eerie and echoing in the forest. Lots of howling, actually - it sounded like at least 10 different werewolves. Which was ridiculous, obviously, but highly disconcerting, especially since there was an odd quality to it that made it hard for Peter to pin down exactly where the howls were coming from. 

“That’s the Argent’s equipment,” Boyd muttered, voice low and sure. Ah, right, he’d heard about that. Huh. It was actually a clever tactic, really. Peter might have been more appreciative if it wasn’t being used against him and his Pack, mind, but he wouldn’t be against getting his hands on whatever technology they used to make the sounds. It was quite accurate, and surprisingly high quality - if it hadn’t been pointed out to him, Peter wouldn’t have known it was digitally created.

Eyes narrowing, Isaac’s head swerved around, trying to spot who was trying to sneak up on us. “Is it the twins again?”

Giving a shrug, Jackson frowned. “Probably. I mean, they’d be the closest, right? And I’d think just one of them wouldn’t want to face all of us, Alphas or no.”

That was true, assuming the twins hadn’t met up with any of the other Alphas in the meantime. Huffing, Peter resisted the urge to snarl or scrub over his face, both of which would be more distracting than helpful at the moment. Instead he resolved himself, before peering over his shoulder at them. “If I get my hands on any of them, look away.” 

The implications of that were obvious, and Peter got slightly slow nods for it, with the exception of Jackson, who just stared back. He thought it wouldn’t bother him, then? Fine, if he wanted to watch he was welcome to it, but Peter was not responsible for the damage it would do to his sleep.

Before he could turn back around, there was a noise that was just a little _too_ close to be part of the recording, and Peter turned just in time to see one of the twins darting forward, eyes blazing red and claws and fangs fully extended. The Alpha - and hell if Peter could tell which one of them it was - threw himself at Erica, who dodged nimbly out of the way, giving her own snarl right back. When the twin rolled to redirect his momentum, Boyd and Jackson both went for him, managing to score minor flesh wounds but little else.

A little more wise to their tricks, Peter whirled around and ducked as the other twin burst out of the foliage after his brother. He came in high from the right, and Peter hit the ground to avoid the blow, which jarred his arm hard enough to make him pause and wince. That was all the opening Twin 2 needed, because he lashed out with a clawed hand. Peter tried to move out of the way, but the Alpha was faster than him and wasn’t hurt the way he was, and he ended up with shallow but painful scratches along his cheeks and nose.

He supposed he should be thankful the Alpha didn’t get his eyes, but Peter wasn’t feeling particularly lucky at the moment.

Scrambling back, Peter bared his fangs and brace for further attack. Twin 2 whirled on him, eyes locked on his throat for a killing blow. Then Scott was there, fanged teeth gritted as he swiped his own claws at the Alpha’s face. Distracted as the twin was, the hit landed with enough strength to send him tumbling backward, clutching at his bleeding brow, into the waiting claws of Isaac.

For a second Peter just stared, slightly stunned that he wasn’t dead. Swallowing to reassure himself that his throat wasn’t cut open (again), he glanced over at the other twin, equally surprised to see the three Betas circling him, two of them attacking whenever Twin 1 focused on the other one.

Were they _winning_?

Looking back at Scott and Isaac, he saw that they were keeping Twin 2 occupied. The Alpha kept wiping at his eyes and then lashing out, and Peter wasn’t sure if he had actually been blinded by Scott’s claws or if there was just a lot of blood in his eyes. Either way he was open, and the other one was nice and distracted, which was the best opening they were going to get.

Gritting his teeth, Peter jerked his head toward the other three, and Scott and Isaac nodded before focusing on the second twin, leaving Peter alone with the stumbling Alpha. Getting his feet under him, he burst forward silently, catching the twin by the shoulders and shoving him down to his knees.

The Alpha was disoriented and weakened and went down as easily as could be expected from someone of that level. Standing over him, one hand holding the werewolf’s wrists behind him and the other one grazing his claws against the bared throat, Peter realized this could make him an Alpha without killing his nephew.

And he also realized that he didn’t want to. Not after what he’d done last time, and not how it’d likely disrupt the Pack.

The thought made Peter pause, slightly horrified by how far he’d fallen, and that was all it took for the Alpha to recover. Bucking up, Twin 2 knocked Peter onto his back and hopped to his feet, whirling around and showing his bloodied fangs. From this spot, he could see that only one of the twin’s eyes had been clipped, though the other one was getting leaked into by the cut on his forehead. He could also he how _pissed_ he was.

With the other Betas occupied, and himself in such a vulnerable position, Peter’s stomach twisted, because this was it. He was going to die here. All because he’d hesitated.

And he _still_ didn’t want it.

The Alpha raised his hand once again for a killing blow, and there was a sickening _crack_. Then everything went red.

Because now Twin 2’s blood was everywhere, including Peter’s face.

“That is not sanitary,” he mumbled, wiping his face off on his nice, grey long-sleeved shirt. Peter was going to have to throw it out after this, wasn’t he? Screw it, if he survived this he was _definitely_ going shopping to celebrate.

Once his face was clear, he glanced over at the tree line, and caught sight of Chris Argent standing there, gun still held out calmly and head tilted slightly. Noticing his gaze, the man gave him a respectful nod before focusing on Twin 1.

Huh.

Chris needn’t have bothered with the vigilance, because for the moment Twin 1 wasn’t paying him any attention. Instead he was staring at his brother, expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. Funny enough, Peter wasn’t that sympathetic, though he wondered why those kids weren’t attacking him now. Come on, he was distracted and everything!

But instead the twin - well, not anymore, Peter supposed - darted forward, and Jackson stumbled out of the way, hand coming up to rub over his shoulder, which was breeding rather impressively. “Ethan?” The young man sounded surprisingly lost, and he paused half a foot away from his brother, gazing down at the bullet hole in the side of his skull. “Ethan, get up!”

The woods were silent, even the animals scared into quiet by the sound of the gunshot, and Peter swallowed hard. Yes, yes, it was very sad. Now it was time to keep the rest of his Pack safe. Glancing at Chris again, he found the man frowning, watching with something almost sorrowful rather than doing anything. When he noticed Peter staring again, he nodded once and retook aim.

It seemed cruel, maybe, but if the rumors about twins were true, then it would be crueler still to let one twin live on while the other died. Besides, leaving him alive wasn’t an option. Peter was going to keep his Pack safe, one way or another, and if Argent had any decency in him at all, which Peter wasn’t holding his breath on, he was going to protect his daughter as well.

With one more final sounding crack, the second brother fell.

Nodding, Peter picked himself off, glancing back up at the Betas. They had all been wise enough to look away, mostly at each other or their own feet. Biting the inside of his cheek, he stared at the corpses for another moment, noting the way the twins had fallen so that they were nearly face to face, arms resting on each other.

But it wasn’t going to be enough. Peter just didn’t exactly look forward to the next part.

Chris called the kiddies over, and maybe they were being over protective, but Peter was glad they at least got the option to look away. Kneeling down between them, he grabbed the hair of the one closer - Ethan - and slashed once, then again when he didn’t get through all the way, until the head came free. Then he repeated the task with the other, and wiped off his claws on his slacks. Gross.

If he was honest, Peter was almost tempted to take one of the heads with them. It would be satisfying to use their own method of psychological torture against the other two. But the kids probably wouldn’t like that, and there wasn’t really a good way of transporting a decaptitated head, so he left them where they were.

Standing up, he eyed Chris, who was talking in low voices to the other Betas as he watched Peter from the corner of his eyes. Fair enough. As he walked over, he arched a brow at the hunter and wiped off his face of the new gore. “Where’s Derek and your daughter?”

Scowling, the man glanced deeper into the forest. “I don’t know. The blond one and the woman were nearby, but he ran off. I tried to follow, but by the time he lost me I’d been separated from Allison and your Alpha. I assume on purpose.”

Fair assumption. Peter inclined his head at the man, the closest he was ever going to get to a ‘thanks’ to an Argent, and Chris stared for a brief moment but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the glance. Good. If he’d said anything, it would have been that much worse.

“Can we go now?” Erica murmured, her face pale and hair as messy as Peter had ever seen it. The others voiced their agreement, and he couldn’t really blame them for wanting to get away from the three dead bodies.

Nodding, Peter eyed Chris again. “Do you know which way they went?”

Chris arched a brow right back. “Assuming they stayed in the same place?” Yeah, okay, that was a rather large assumption. But it wasn’t like they had anything better, so Peter just stared. “I believe it was this way.”

Following behind the hunter, Peter took up the rear, controlling his breathing as best he could. The cuts on his arm and face were throbbing with an almost burning pain, and the sensation was putting him on edge. Not the mention it was just exhausting him, and it was taking some concentration not to pant out his breaths. The teenagers seemed mostly fine, probably because of being teenagers, except that Argent was fine too. Maybe it was part of the weakness of coming back, or simply that he was aging. Either way, Peter needed to get himself together already, because he didn’t exactly want anyone to notice him faltering. At least, not anymore than he already had. 

After all, Peter wasn’t sure he would survive the indignity of getting saved by Argent again.

The walk seemed to take forever, due to the heaviness of Peter’s limbs and the fact that he was actually worried. It did Peter no good to survive and to suddenly be Alpha-less, after all and...

...And he was just worried about his nephew. Ugh. Emotions were awful.

Eventually they did hear the sounds of a scuffle, and then kids shared a glance before darting off in the direction of it. Peter would have made a comment about how they never learned, except he couldn’t help dashing off after them. Argent followed after, not quite able to keep the pace but doing fairly impressively for a human, and they quickly barreled through the trees to the clearing they’d been practicing at the other day.

There, Derek was swiping at the female Alpha, who moved out of his way, red eyes narrowed dangerously. She was moving more slowly than Peter would have expected, and when she turned her back to them, he could see why. There were gashes in her side, some glancing and some with the shafts of arrows still sticking out where she’d tried and failed to rip them out.

As they watched, Derek leaned too heavily on his left leg, which looked like the female Alpha had managed to bite a chunk out of, and lost his concentration to wince. Quick as a flash, she lashed out, expression eerily business like. But before she made contact, there was a soft whistle and then a new arrow was sticking out of the middle of her back, just shy of the spine. From the angle of it, Allison had climbed into one of the trees, and was shooting off whenever the Alpha was distracted. Smart girl.

Hissing in pain, the Alpha whirled around, reaching awkwardly to try and grab the arrow. Derek pounced forward then, and she backpedaled fast and avoided the blow, still struggling to get a good hold of the shaft. But Derek turned the momentum into a kick, knocking her feet out from under her, and she fell back, giving a nauseatingly shrill sound when she fell onto the arrow.

Rather than finishing her, Derek caught sight of them and paused, a look of naked relief flashing over his features. Following his gaze, the woman flipped over, her movements slow and painful looking, and stared at them. Her expression, which till then had still been remarkably composed, broke apart as she stared at them with wide eyes. “But... the twins...”

And maybe Peter hadn’t ‘been the most effective against them, but he couldn’t help but smirk at her, tilting his head to the side in mock sympathy. “I wouldn’t wait up.”

Her face transformed into a scowl, but that faltered into a look of pain when Derek planted his foot on her back, pinning her in place. “Might as well just tell me. What do you want?”

Rather than answer, she just snarled at him, but there was a quiet chuckle from not too far along the side of the clearing. “Oh, calm down, Vira. We can get others.” The leader of the Alphas tilted his head, watching her with something like amusement, a bag slung over his shoulder and his hand keeping a steady grip on Stiles’ throat. 

Well. _Shit_. Peter’s stomach dropped so fast he was almost afraid he was going to be sick.

Finally the man shrugged, eyes sharp. “Or maybe just me. I did tell you at the beginning, after all...”

Eye blazing, she snarled at him. “I did keep up!” She scrambled, trying to get up, but Derek pushed down harder, making her flop back down. “I _helped_ you, Vargr!”

The leader looked unimpressed with her argument, eyes cool. Next to him, Stiles pushed off his chest, trying to scramble away, but Blondy held tight, squeezing until Stiles went still, concentrating on breathing rather than escape. “Until now. This isn’t helping. Clearly. So unless you have something to contribute, I don’t think you’ll be of much use to me.”

Eyes blazing, the woman pushed up hard enough to knock away Derek’s foot, and then snarled as she dashed toward him, movements desperate and abrupt with pain.

Rolling his eyes, Leader huffed and side stepped, pushing the still gasping Stiles along with him, and slashed out as she passed him. For a second it looked like he missed, and then she stumbled to a stop, giving watery, choking gasps. She turned around just enough that Peter could see the blood oozing out of her throat, before she fell to the ground and stayed still.

Okay, that was nice. Now if people could please start attacking the Alpha to get Stiles to safety, that would be wonderful. Peter didn’t like his chances of getting to him, weakened as he was, and Derek’s speed or any of the two long range weapons would have a much better chance. Except that Derek was too far away to get to him before Blondy would slit Stiles’ throat, and Chris was subtly reaching back for the clip in his pocket, and Allison was gripping at her bow, leaning forward enough that Peter could see that her quiver was empty, and...

Well, shit.

Stepping forward, Jackson glared at him, all furious bravado. “Where’s Lydia?”

“Your little redhaired paramore?” Blondy asked, blinking in mock innocence. “She bolted at the sight of me. It was sad to watch, to be honest. Normally I would have gone after her, but just one human is bargaining chip enough. It’s a pity, almost. The mountain ash trick might have worked if they hadn’t been stupid enough to break it.” He jerked Stiles around a little as if to prove it, and the boy failed dramatically, one hand in the air and one near his jacket pocket.

Which was bulging in a familiar way. Oh.

But Peter could only tell that because he knew exactly how that coat was supposed to look, considering he’d made Stiles buy it. Which meant that it was likely none of the rest realized what he was trying to show them.

 _Oh_.

Oh, _shit_.

“Now, let it be known that I don’t give a damn what happens to the human. It’s not like it can hurt me one way or the other. You’re not even a hunter are you? I can’t for the life of me imagine why you keep him around, but I suppose different people prefer different pets.” The Alpha eyed Stiles for a moment, who glared until his throat was squeezed again. “All I need is the right exchange. Which, to save you the trouble of guessing, would be the password for this.”

Reaching into the bag he was wearing, the Alpha drew out a laptop. In fact, a very familiar one.

 _Oh, shit_.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was impressed with your trick, Peter Hale. In fact, I’d rather like to try it myself.” Giving a winsome smile, he held the laptop out. “I told you before that my Pack has excellent resources. After all, that’s what we _do_. Gather resources from other Packs. And the Hales were always so _tempting_ but just too difficult to get into until a few years ago.” Eyes narrowed with what was supposed to be sympathy, but was mostly sadistic glee, the Alpha tilted his head toward Derek. “Until your dear nephew let in the Big Bad Wolf hunter.”

Ah. So that was the reason for winding Peter up about the Argents. And while he freely admitted that it would have been a wonderful strategy against him 24 hours ago, it really fell apart now.

Instead, Peter was going to make this into Stiles’ opportunity. Catching the boy’s eye, he tilted his head for just a moment, long enough that hopefully he’d pick up on what Peter was trying to do, before he met the Alpha’s gaze right back.

And then he gave a wide smile. “Well, you know. Things happen. I guess I’ll let bygones be bygones.” Arching his brows, Peter waggled his finger at his nephew, who was blinking at him in surprise. “Bad Derek. No dessert tonight.”

And, satisfyingly, the Alpha just stared at him in shock, shaking his head slowly. “Did you not hear me? He-”

Whatever he was going to explain was cut off as Stiles pulled out a vial of pepper spray and got Blondy right in the face.

Catching the movement, the Alpha moved to snarl at Stiles, and just got a lungfull of acrid aerosol instead. He started to hack, face going red and eyes watering. But he didn’t let go of Stiles’ throat - if the boy’s expression was any indication, the grip was just getting tighter.

Maybe it was the most stupidly suicidal thing Peter had ever done, but the other choice was to let the Alpha crush Stiles’ throat, which wasn’t a choice at all.

So, acting fast, Peter ran forward and threw himself at the Alpha leader, pepper spray and wounds be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How nice of Teen Wolf to give the twins names in time for me to use them. However, since the other two lack official ones, I had to be creatives. _Vira_ is Sanskrit for werewolf, and _Vargr_ is the Norse word, but also means 'wolf' or 'rouge'.


	7. As Good as it Gets

Tackling an Alpha, distracted or no, really wasn’t Peter’s best plan. Not only because Blondy had killed his second in command without so much as losing his grip on Stiles - and Peter was lucky that Blondy had let go of the human’s neck in the process of getting slammed - but because he’d just ran _into_ the acrid pepper spray, and now he was hacking and coughing just as badly as the Alpha.

They fell to the ground in a painful and undignified flop, and Peter couldn’t help hissing because he’d managed to fall on his bad arm. Which of course just earned him more pepper spray in his lungs.

And he _still_ didn’t regret his actions, which was just a kick to the teeth.

Despite being the one who’d been sprayed in the face, the Alpha recovered first, holding his breath long enough to blaze red eyes at Peter and twist to slam him into the ground. Hard. The wind was knocked right out of him, which didn’t actually help the pepper spray situation. But from this position and through the watering of his eyes, he could see that Stiles had scrambled away to a safer distance. But not toward the other Betas or Derek or anything _sensible_ \- instead he was heading toward a patch of woods that seemed empty, until a shadow passed through.

Any further musings were lost, because Blondy snarled and pushed up a little to give himself room to raise his hand for a slash. Acting quickly, Peter kicked up at his stomach through sheer lupine instinct for the soft underbelly. The Alpha didn’t actually seem harmed, but it did jar him enough to make him pause, which was enough time to let Peter scramble back out of the way.

Taking a breath of the clearing air, Peter shook his head and turned toward the rest of his Pack, who were barreling closer but not quickly enough, because the Alpha pounced at him and got him around the midsection. Peter went down _again_ , and this time he couldn’t keep track of who was hitting where, because it was all a mass of grappling and snarling and twisting as he tried to do as much damage as he could before the Alpha managed a killing blow.

Just as he felt his grip on Blondy start to slip, there was a _deafining_ crack, and there was red everywhere because the Alpha’s head was all but gone, and there was just little chunks of bone all and other, less solid bits over Peter and the grass around him.

Wow, it was really good he was probably a sociopath, because otherwise Peter would not be coming out of this mentally unscathed.

As the bulk of the corpse went limp against his chest, Peter turned in the direction the shot had come from. Lydia stared back, still watching him from down the barrel of a shotgun. As he met her eyes, Peter realized how very close that shot had been to his own head - probably less than a foot away, in fact. If Lydia had felt like it, she could very much have gotten revenge right then, either by friendly fire or just waiting a _second_ too long.

The realization must have shown in Peter’s face, because she smirked and tossed her hair in a deliberately smug manner before lowering the barrel.

It was probably strange, but Peter _really_ adored Lydia. It was always the spunky ones.

Shoving the practically headless corpse off of him, Peter listened to Jackson run up and hug her, picking her up and spinning her around as she laughed. “How did you do that?”

When Peter looked back up, he saw Lydia shrugging in clearly mock modesty. “Stiles told me about Derek trying to make him get a gun, and since no one bothered to see if _I_ was being armed, I decided to get Daddy to show me how to work his gun ‘in case of emergencies’. After that it wasn’t hard to figure out how to use it. Slight compensation for gravity and wind and then remember Newton’s Laws. Easy.”

Frowning at her, Peter slowly stood and fought off a wince as parts of him _ached_. “Had you ever fired it before tonight?” 

Giving him a smile with entirely too much teeth, Lydia shook her head. “Nope.”

Okay, Lydia was his new favorite.

Until Stiles came back over and offered his shoulder for Peter to lean on. Then he was his favorite. “Can we go back to the house now?” Stiles asked, tone brimming with exhaustion.

“Oh, I like that plan. Let’s do that,” Peter added, but the light tone was ruined by the fact that he kind of croaked it out. Oops. 

But Derek was watching Stiles closely. “Speaking of home, why the _hell_ did you break the ash circle?”

Stiles just groaned and ducked his head, so Lydia stepped forward. “It seemed wise to be armed, which I’d like to remind you is the reason that one is dead.” She waved the shotgun back toward the corpse, and Peter shuffled himself and, consequently, Stiles out of the line of fire, still very aware of how lethal she was with it. “Besides, they were clearly making themselves at home in there looking for all that laptop, so it wasn’t safe to just sit in there. They might not be able to cross it themselves, but all they’d have to do would be throw things at us.”

Oh, right! His laptop. Peter wanted that back, please, mostly so he could clean it off. He made a grabbing motion at it, childishly wishing for psychic powers or something equally useful for achy older werewolves. Moving forward, Isaac made a face at the gore, but did pick up his laptop, Scott coming up behind him more sedately to stand with his friend. “I’ll hold on to this for now, okay?” Isaac held it gingerly, either because of the blood splatter or because he was afraid he’d drop it.

“Fine with me,” Peter mumbled back. Anything less for him to have to deal with at the moment was peachy right now. “Home, now?”

And, yeah, the Hale house was home again. Not that Peter really needed that rubbed in. 

Derek finally nodded, and they all trudged back the long walk back to the house. This time, Peter was thankful the Alphas had attacked in the morning, because the trek would have been even worse in the dark, wolf senses or no.

After what felt like years, they finally made it back, and Peter could actually see relief make Derek’s shoulders loosen as he opened the door. He shared the sentiment, really. Peter was still reeling from the fact that they were alive ( _all_ of them, which seemed absolutely impossible), and having time to just sit and let it sink in was a weight off his shoulders. 

Except the house wasn’t empty. 

It took Peter several minutes to figure out _what_ the thing pawing through their supplies was, much less who. It was like a wolf, but with some elements than might have been Kanima and a few, pained looking parts that might have been human.

The thing turned to look at them, and then cocked its head, a slow, multi-fanged smile spreading over its face. Its eyes were one of the few human parts, and they snapped onto both the Argents rather than the rest of them. “Not exactly how I was planning a family reunion.”

Wait... That _monster_ was Gerard Argent?

“Gross,” Erica murmured as Stiles bit out a “Eww,” and Peter agreed wholeheartedly. But her quiet murmur caught its - or, ‘his’, rather - attention, and Gerard’s creepy eyes snapped to them.

Lurching up, he took one step forward, the leg wolf-esque but scaled in mottled spots, with the rest an inflamed red. “Watch your mouth,” he snarled, and the action actually looked painful, like his mouth had too many teeth to hold. “I was hoping the others would do me the favor of doing you all in, but I supposed it’s best to do the important jobs yourself.” Then, like he forgot about them, or maybe they just weren’t important to him, his gaze slipped back to his relations. “No hard feelings, obviously.”

Gripping her bow and gritting her teeth, Allison glared at him, eyes alight with fury. She took a step forward, and looked like she wanted to take another, but Scott grabbed one wrist and her father snagged the other. “I wouldn’t say that, Gerard.” 

“What happened to Grandpa?” The man asked, tilting his head to the side to a degree that could only be reptilian. His tone was only amused, like he found her fury amusing.

Snorting violently, Allison shook her head. “You’re just the man who sent me birthday cards once a year.”

Gerard stared at her for another moment, before assessing his son, and then turning back to the rest. “Then you get to watch, I suppose.”

A low grown startled Peter, and he turned enough to see Jackson just in time to be pushed aside. “Are you an Alpha?” He snarled.

Still looking amused, Gerard eyed Derek meaningfully. “Not yet.”

“Fine.” With that Jackson gave a noise that wasn’t even close to human and pounced.

Then went down in a tumble, and the other three Betas moved forward to flank him while Lydia hefted up her shotgun again, pulling out more ammo from her pocket, but it wasn’t actually needed. Jackson was actually doing very well against Gerard. Well, more accurately, Gerard was doing _poorly_. For all his talk about killing Alphas and doing things his way, nothing about him actually worked together, and when Jackson landed a nice blow on his jaw, he spat out inky, sick black instead of blood.

With astonishing and anti-climatic quickness, Jackson wrapped his hands around either side of Gerard’s head. Eyes blazing icy blue, he twisted, and there was a loud crack before Gerard went limp.

“Well, at least we know who the traitor was.” Scott offered. “Well, maybe two. Was Ms. Morrell a traitor too?”

There was a round of shrugs, since it wasn’t like either of them were able to explain it. Frankly, Peter didn’t care so long as there weren’t _more_. Or he at least got a nap.

Eying his father’s body, Chris sighed deeply. “I’ll take care of this.”

He bent over to pick up the corpse, and Allison set her bow aside and joined him. “We will.” And after a pause, she shot Derek an awkward smile. “Will about the treeline be far enough away?”

Derek nodded, and the two Argents moved out, carrying their family member between them. It made sense that they should take care of it, and Peter was very glad to be spared the job, so he just watched them go and then leaned far enough over to shut the door behind them.

Well, that had all be very poetic. Nap now, right?

Pushing Stiles toward the couch - he appreciated the help, but Stiles was still hamburger meat, though he did seem to be feeling much better - Peter gazed around at all of them, a little confused as to what to do. He would have loved to just collapse onto his bed, but he was still twitchy and strung out.

Finally he just sat down next to Stiles’ head, rolling his eyes when the boy made grumpy noises at being ever so slightly jarred. Grateful he may be, but that didn’t mean he was going to baby him. 

Silence settled around the room, somehow awkward now that they had nothing to do, and then Scott raised a fist slightly. “Well, we did it. Yay.”

The trace, dry humor broke some of the tension, and then even more when Stiles snickered and started to hum a tune that Peter didn’t recognize. Jackson scoffed at him for it, but the expression had more than a hint of fondness, and Stiles just grinned. “Oh, don’t even. You watched _Dora_ growing up too. You’re singing it in your head.”

Jackson rolled his eyes and flopped down next to his feet, and the rest sort of crowded around wherever they could. There wasn’t enough space for Stiles to lay like that, so eventually Derek just hoisted him up and settled the human’s head on his lap. For a second Stiles stilled, and then nuzzled in outrageously, grinning smugly.

Once again there was a long moment of silence, and Peter closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the others and feeling the heat his nephew put off. Maybe if they all weren’t so sore and strung up and different people, this would have devolved into some form of Pack wide cuddle pile. Smaller versions of them had happened a few times during not so nice events before, and it was fairly common among tightly knit Packs.

Maybe someday. Peter hoped not. There were levels he didn’t want to fall to, thanks.

Even this was comforting, and Peter let himself soak it in a little, letting the adrenaline crash wash over him and feeling the more superficial wounds knit themselves. At some point it would probably be a good idea to go and get some supplies to clean their cuts up - Peter suspected the ones on his face would scar regardless, which was just _wonderful_ \- but he was tired and this was nice so it could just wait.

Eventually the atmosphere was broken for them by the sounds of a car pulling up and the two doors opening and closing. Immediately, the whole Pack went tense, straining toward the front door where the sounds of footsteps were heading.

Then there was a quick, quiet knock.

“Well, unless they’re very polite threats, I think we’re good,” Erica murmured, flopping back dramatically onto Isaac, tanging her hands around Boyd’s larger one. The boy gave a quiet ‘oomph’ and leaned farther into Scott, who shoved at them both before settling.

Rolling his eyes at them all, Peter just shook his head. Next to him, Derek made a noise that was supposed to be irritated but was mostly just fond, before turning back to the door. “It’s open.”

The Sheriff - oh, yes, he was supposed to come back today wasn’t he? - filed in, followed by a slightly emaciated but otherwise whole Deaton.

Well, he’d survived somehow. Color Peter shocked.

“I assume you were already attacked,” Deaton remarked, voice calm and almost amused in how knowing it was. The tone implied that he knew all about it from wherever he’d been, but it always sounded like that. And always it managed to put Peter on edge. The man was a valuable asset, but Peter just didn’t like to _listen_ to him. It was childish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Gaping at him, Scott gave a smile that could generate rainbows. “You’re okay!”

Lips quirking up, Deaton inclined his head. “It would seem that way.”

Isaac blinked at him, eyes big and concerned, and Peter wondered again just when the boy had gotten attached to Deaton. “What happened to you?”

Expression shifting slightly from ‘incomprehensible’ to ‘stony’, Deaton just stared back. “I was a resource.” Ah. That explained why he was still alive. “As was Bi- ah, Ms. Morrell. However, she decided to try and trick them. I’m under the impression that it didn’t work out well for her.”

“We can confirm that,” Peter replied. Actually, they were going to have to do something about those bodies soon, preferably before they rotted too much. Tonight them. Maybe he could convince Isaac to break into his old job and bury them there. After all, who would look for missing bodies in a graveyard?

For a moment, Deaton looked down, like he was collecting himself, and the Sheriff took that chance to speak up, eyes tracking over each and clearly noting all the blood. The couch was probably ruined, come to think it about, but it could be replaced. “So what the hell happened? Deaton said that the... the weird scary other pack were coming here.”

Flapping a dismissive hand at him, Stiles gave a reassuring grin, which probably didn’t work quite so well when he was settled in Derek’s lap. “They did. We took care of it.”

“And you’re still alive,” Deaton amused, expression back into that slightly-warm poker face. “That is impressive. You’ve all improved since we were gone.” The Sheriff didn’t look at all happy with his quiet surprise, but several members of the Pack visibly straightened under the praise including, oddly even, Derek, though his was more subtle.

Stilinski frowned, and then sighed. “So, what now? Any other magical creatures out for your throats? Maybe some Vampires to slay?”

The Pack started to shake their heads, but Deaton just hummed, tapping his chin. “It’s possible. Less about being after you, but because Beacon Hills is a prime magical location.” When the kids all blinked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Or us,” Peter agreed, gesturing to Derek. “That was the reason the Hales defended this territory for so long. Numbers are the most important factor for strength, but location and resources are other ones.” 

Groaning, Lydia combed her fingers through her hair. “I’d appreciate it if the next crisis could wait at least a few weeks. I can’t be expected to save everyone again so soon.”

Giving a chuckle, Deaton gave that enigmatic smile. “I think you’ll have that at least that long.” Something about the wording made Peter twitch, but before he could question it the veterinarian turned to Stilinski. “I believe you said something about going to the station to get rid of the missing persons report?”

The Sheriff’s jaw set, and he glanced at his son one more time. “You’re sure?”

Apparently Stiles didn’t need that clarified, because he just gave his father a warm smile back. “Yeah. I’m fine. You go do your boring job things. I’ll hang out here.”

Stilinski didn’t look happy at that, but he was at least accepting. “Okay. I’ll be back later.”

Since there wasn’t a crisis for them to ride in at the nick of time for, the two filed out shortly, and the Pack was left to pick itself back up again. But, as Peter had thought before, their Pack was Frankenstein’s Monster. It was patched up and probably an abomination in some way or another, but it was more resilient than anything else out there.

***

Two days later, Peter found himself flat on his back and staring at his ceiling, just like he had on the night before the attack.

The past few days had been eventful in the way that kept him from thinking too hard about what had happened. In fact, they were designed that way - no one wanted to dwell when it was all so fresh. For the most part, the Pack had stuck together, still driven by an instinct even the humans seemed to feel to stick close and defensive, just in case. In the meantime, they’d cleaned up the forest (Well, Peter, Derek and Chris Argent had, which had been an exceedingly awkward event) and found the Alpha’s old hideout, which had then been cleaned out of all it’s stolen goods. Then the door had been replaced and they’d all been patched up as well as they could be. The kids were all healing ridiculously fast, even the wounds had been Alpha-made, just from sheer youth, which was irritating beyond measure. At least the cuts on Peter’s arm weren’t in much danger of ripping open anymore. The ones on his face were a bit more finicky, and still itched terribly. 

But now they’d run out of things to do, and if there was any retribution for taking out the Alphas, then it probably would have happened by now. Instead, the Pack was spending the day together as best they could before they’d be forced to go forth into the real world and act like nothing was the matter.

Peter, on the other hand, had bowed out and come up stairs, because now that everything else was taken care of, he had to _think_ , and that was better done alone.

Now, with a little distance and perspective, Peter could see just how much he’d changed over the past couple of weeks. His ruthlessness had become a source of comfort to him since his world burned down. If nothing else, he could always count on being able to do whatever he needed to so he could survive another day. No matter how morally dissonant it was, Peter had a plan B, and he would use it.

Except when he wouldn’t.

And suddenly Peter’s mental safety net was gone. There were things he would _willing walk into_ for the sake of others. For his Pack, only one member of whom was actually family. And for years, family hadn’t even mattered, except in the form of ghosts that drove him to vengeance. Or, perhaps more accurately, had been his excuse for it.

Frankly, the fact that Peter had changed made him nervous. Very much so. Enough that he wasn’t sure he was really okay with it.

Maybe what he needed was distance. Real distance, instead of this defensive huddling they’d fallen into. Go away for a little while, take some time to himself to get his thoughts back on track. After all, it would barely even hurt his standing - Peter was sure he could give Derek a good enough excuse to get him out for a couple of weeks, and then he could use that time to refocus himself.

Peter didn’t really _want_ to do it, but that was a reason to leave in and of itself.

A knock on the door startled Peter, mostly because he hadn’t realized he’d been so lost in thought he’d lost track of his surroundings, and he blinked at the door for a moment before the person on the other side knocked again, more impatiently.

Sliding of the bed, Peter padded over and opened the door, only to have something shoved in his face. He knocked it aside reflexively, and Stiles beamed back at him, completely unrepentant. “Are you done sulking?”

Frowning, Peter huffed at him. “I’m not sulking.”

“You totally are, don’t even try that crap. You are a pouty wolf. Covering your muzzle with your paws and everything. I should tape it and put it on Youtube.” Still grinning, Stiles put whatever it was he’d been holding in between them and waggled it around in a manner that was supposed to be enticing. It was season one of _Charlie’s Angels_. “So, if you’re done, you should come watch with us. It’s cheesy 80’s nonsense!” The last sentence was sing-song, like he was a small child Stiles was trying to tempt with candy.

The analogy wasn’t too far off, and Peter stared at the box for a moment. The Pack officially knew him well enough to try and emotionally bribe him with things he preferred. Mind, they probably wouldn’t put it like that, but it was the truth.

Which meant that Peter had no chance of getting away now. He was part of them, and he was so very screwed.

So much for that, then.

“Alright, if you insist. You’ll need someone old enough to explain the references.”

Flashing him another grin, this one less tempting and more real, Stiles turned on his heel and started down the hallway, swinging the hand that was holding the DVDs. “Good thing then. We need someone at your advanced stage of... ah... wisdom.” Snickering impishly, Stiles scrambled down the stairs before Peter could retaliate.

And it was a mark of how much Peter had been ensnared that he didn’t even mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand that's all she wrote! Literally, as a matter of fact.
> 
> I'm sorry if the traitor story line wasn't nearly as interesting as you'd all hoped. TBH, it wasn't something I gave a lot of thought - it was just what it made sense for the Alphas to do to move the story forward. To be clear, Gerard was the 'main' traitor, I suppose you could say. He was the one who informed the Alpha Pack about Kate (B/c let's be real, the man was probably at least partially responsible) and told them about Scott's weakness toward his mother, though I imagine they would have figured that one out. Morrell _might_ gave been one, but she decided to just manipulate them instead and got killed for it.
> 
> Thank you all for all the love and encouragement I got throughout writing this! I have an admittedly terrible track record for actually finishing fics, but how could I not finish when so many people were interested? C:
> 
> In case anyone was curious: I don't have a plot idea for a sequel, but I do have a few random scenes in my head, so it's quite possible you'll get a part two or a drabble series in the future.
> 
> For anyone interested in contacting me, my tumblr is currently 2spookyreactions.tumblr.com, soon to return to chaoticreactions
> 
> Have a good weekend, everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to follow me, my tumblr is chaoticreactions.tumblr.com

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] The Cards All Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443225) by [annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annapods/pseuds/annapods)




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